


Wild Hunt

by Slide (JustSlide)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, OR ARROW, Post-Hogwarts, THAT'D BE WEIRD RIGHT, Vigilantism, WHAT IF A WIZARD WERE BATMAN, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSlide/pseuds/Slide
Summary: Magic is a gift. A tool to change the world. But the wizarding world has fallen into a new age of darkness and fear, walling itself away. Scorpius Malfoy tried to fight that once, and lost.Maybe he can’t change the wizarding world. But the Muggle world is full of evils that can be undone by one man and his wand. At whatever cost.





	1. Chapter 1

It was his job to make sure people didn’t remember what he’d rather forget. Boots squeaked in their battle with the tacky kitchen floor in the long-abandoned restaurant, and with the smell of dust mixing with the tang of blood, he didn’t want to think what made it sticky. Creaks of metal and the swish of distant cars were overlaid with the heavy breathing and groans of the four men, beaten and trussed up in a corner, and he could taste the sweat, the desperation.

But it wasn’t their sweat and desperation, and most of it wasn’t their blood. He’d taken only a quick look at the back room, so small a dozen people would have been like sardines if trapped in there. The lock, blasted apart, made that more ‘when’ than ‘if’.

‘The things they were saying,’ said Detective Sergeant Beckett of the Metropolitan Police Service, ‘made it sound like I should bring it to you, Mister White.’

The stupid code-names hadn’t been his idea. But some discretion was needed when his work as an Obliviator brought him into contact with Muggles. Sergeant Beckett was far less stupid than most of the coppers he’d dealt with, but one of her carefully-selected superiors had been scrambled with enough charms and bribes to be convinced Albus worked for some mysterious government agency. It meant Muggle police didn’t ask too many questions when their investigations got a bit weird. And it meant they called him.

Albus Potter’s eyes swept from the broken makeshift prison cell to the four thugs. ‘What sort of things?’

‘All they can agree on is that one man bust in through the skylight,’ said Beckett, pointing her pocketbook at the broken high window. ‘One of them remembers nothing after that. Another one remembers throwing a punch only for it to feel like he’d hit a brick wall, then it goes blank. One of them claims he was tapped with a stick and sent flying. You know.’ She gave him her steady, unconvinced look. ‘That sort of thing.’ One of these days he was going to have to obliviate Sergeant Beckett. She was too interested in doing an actual job, which meant she asked questions when clues didn’t add up, and resented, instead of relished, a problem being taken out of her hands.

_This isn_ _’t why I got into this job._ Albus picked his way over broken glass and adjusted the uncomfortable tie of the Muggle monkey suit he had to wear for this part of his work. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll take it from here.’

She didn’t leave, flipping through her pocketbook. ‘I thought you might want to know these four run with the Kane Syndicate. One of them’s already wanted in association with a drugs case. We can haul them in, but without any actual victims it’s not as if we’re going to be able to make charges surrounding human trafficking stick.’

‘Human trafficking?’

‘Nobody was locked in the back room for their health.’

He met her gaze, and just repeated, ‘We’ll take it from here.’ Only when she was gone did he look at his partner, who looked even less at-ease than him. ‘What’s this Kane Syndicate?’

Bram Peasegood, walking institutional memory of the Obliviators, pushed his glasses up his nose as he advanced. ‘An organised crime family in Muggle London. The one most recently risen to prominence.’ Peasegood wasn’t great with people, but he absorbed information from their briefing memos like a Pensieve with memories, down to the minutiae while Albus crammed strategic concerns in his head. ‘The Met will want to question them thoroughly if these four have connections.’

‘Then let’s make sure they don’t have any useful memories of a bloody _wizard_ breaking in, beating them up, and releasing the poor souls locked up.’ Albus glanced to the front door to make sure all was clear, and drew his wand. It was not his preference for Beckett to have extracted answers from the foursome only for him to now jumble those accounts. ‘Why would anyone be this _stupid_?’

Peasegood looked at the shattered lock and the stinking cell of desperation beyond. ‘Somebody might say you’d be stupid to _not_ act.’ He was big and burly where Albus was wiry, far more the poster child for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but his gentle manner and fondness for contemplation over action had fallen him into the junior role in the partnership, despite his greater experience.

‘Because what this community needs,’ grumbled Albus, ‘is another Stortford to strain the Statute further.’ He was going to raise Beckett’s suspicions more by fixing that lock and then breaking it in a more explainable manner.

They did their work in silence, because at this time of night Peasegood knew better than to argue and Albus had no desire to upset his gentle-natured partner by picking a fight. Peasegood focused on altering the memories, better at those sorts of subtle, technical magics, while Albus cleared the room of suggestions the laws of physics had been broken. In this sort of place, in this part of London, nobody would ask too many questions. But loose threads dangled, and he’d be damned if that happened on his watch.

It took a half hour before they were finished, emerging on the street with only the faintest hint of dawn tugging on the horizon. DS Beckett and her officers still waited, her with a steaming cup of coffee and a grumpy expression.

‘You can sort it all,’ said Albus generously. ‘And don’t worry about the fellow who did this. He’s on our map, and we’ll take care of him. You won’t hear from him again.’

Beckett grunted. ‘I don’t worry about fellows like that,’ she said. ‘They might be the only person in the building all night who actually cared about doing the right thing. Truly a danger to life, limb, and community.’

‘You’re a fan of vigilantism, Sergeant?’

She took a judicious sip of coffee. ‘I don’t think you care about vigilantism, Mister White. I think you care about everything being quiet. It’s amazing how much evil gets tolerated in this world so long as it’s _quiet_.’

He was stung by the accusation despite himself, stung by the contempt dripping from her voice. He left with Peasegood as quickly as possible, heading down the street before anyone could ask too many follow up questions, such as ‘where’s your car?’

‘So long as it’s _quiet_ ,’ he echoed to Peasegood once they were a distance away and making for a discreet alleyway for Disapparition. ‘This clown keeps on like this, they’re going to break the Statute of Secrecy wide open.’

‘Maybe,’ said his partner, honest brow furrowed. ‘But until then it looks like they’ve done a lot of good for those people.’

‘And _after_ then,’ said Albus, jaw tight, ‘the _world_ will be anything but quiet.’

 

* * *

 

 

His footsteps on the gravel path were in time with his heartbeat, thudding from adrenaline that spoke of what was to come as much as the lingering buzz of the night’s activities. Luggage had been sent ahead, which was for the best as his aching body protested under the burden of even just his travel pack. That bulged with dirty clothes he’d have to keep hidden from his mother, lest she spot the bloodstains.

They said you couldn’t go home again, but Scorpius Malfoy had done it many times. Home was different places. For a long time it had been the hallowed halls of Hogwarts where he’d known brotherhood for himself, and judgement for the stained and ragged legacy that hung about his shoulders. In recent years it was wherever he’d laid his head, a hundred hotel rooms in a hundred cities, from the luxurious indulgences that his name demanded to the frugal hardships his ambitions required. But all this time his heart had belonged to Malfoy Manor, and its pull gave him the last surge of energy needed to make it up the long, winding path this early October morning.

It was not what it had been. The fountain was a bare, granite monstrosity leering at him over an untrimmed hedge grown wild, turned to gothic foreboding without running water. Somewhere across the unattended lawn, a peacock with a feral look in its eye spotted him only to scurry back around a corner. Thick wooden shutters barred most of the windows, leaving the gleaming light of welcome spotty at best. The last was the least concerning, as the Malfoy family had always struggled to fill its manor, to make all its rooms and hallways feel lived-in rather than a mausoleum to past greatness. But it did not help his trepidation as he reached the grand front doors and reached up for the knocker.

He heard the snap from the other side, and pasted a smile that hid exhaustion when the door was opened by the elderly, well-dressed House Elf. ‘Master Scorpius! You were expected last night!’ scolded Tribby, ushering him in. ‘Young master must be famished without the dinner that was prepared for him -’

‘My Portkey delayed me in Paris; I had to put up with the French for an extra eight hours but I didn’t _actually_ die.’ The lie came easy, as did sidestepping Tribby to ignore the House Elf’s gestures that he’d take his bag. ‘I’ll never turn down breakfast but if my parents are awake they probably won’t thank me for being more interested in toast than them. Are they awake?’

‘They are now,’ came a voice from the stairs, and he turned with a smile now genuine to see Astoria Malfoy descending in a dressing gown. She had to have heard the door, but it was unlikely he’d woken her with the distance of his parents’ bedroom from the front door. ‘You should have owled!’

‘Every time I was going to, it looked as if I’d be on the _next_ Portkey out, then the next, then the next.’ Scorpius strode over to pull her into a warm hug. He’d been much taller than her for years, but after so long away there was nothing like a mother’s embrace to make him feel like a twelve year-old boy home from school again, not a twenty five year-old man back after long journeys on company business. ‘I don’t know if they were lying to me or themselves, but I was definitely fooled.’

Astoria pulled back, bright green eyes piercing what felt like all his masks in a heartbeat. Delicate fingers came to his right cheek, and her gaze tensed. ‘What happened here?’

‘Nothing,’ he sighed, pulling her hand away.

‘It’s looking to be a nasty bruise -’

‘I lost a fight with a door, but it’s fine, Mum. You should see the door. Honestly, I’ve not seen you since Christmas and you want to fuss over a little bump?’

For all of her gentle, aristocratic good looks that made her look a walking stereotype of idle rich indulgence, he knew it was only delight at his return that made her sharp mind veer away from suspicion. The apprehension in her eyes changed course. ‘And you’re staying for good? Truly?’

‘Sure.’ He gave a shrug he knew would be taken as dismissive as he pulled back. ‘Doesn’t everyone get tired of breakfasting in New York, hammering out business deals over cocktails in Saigon, starting new negotiations at beach parties in Thailand?’

She squeezed his hand. ‘There’s still plenty you can do here. You’ve not wasted any time, you know.’

_Over ten thousand miles and two years and little to show for it but money._ Scorpius cast his gaze to the forlorn front of the house. ‘I see we remain the most stylish of hosts.’

Astoria grimaced. ‘Since - well. No, we’ve hardly been in a position to host or attend dinner parties.’

Even though her voice held no accusation, his gut still twisted with guilt, and his eyes went to the stairs. ‘Is Dad up?’

Concern returned to her gaze as she nodded. ‘He rises early. Takes to his study with tea and the company’s morning reports. Often with your reports.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘How about you have Tribby sort out breakfast, and we’ll be down by the time it’s ready?’

She did not look as if she was used to having breakfast with her husband, but Scorpius had no intention of returning home for his family to scatter to the four winds, or the four wings of the manor. His father’s study sat on the highest floor, with a view that could overlook the grandeur of the grounds and keep a wary eye on the entrance, and he’d spotted a light at the window on his approach. He knew he’d been seen, and so barely waited after his knock at the door before entering. It would have been ideal to put his bag in his room, but he didn’t trust Tribby or his mother to not get a head start on laundry, so he kept it on him. It meant his shoulders slumped as he walked in, exacerbated all his exhaustion, and made him stoop with weary defeat instead of doing as he’d hoped and dreamt and coming home in proud, upstanding victory.

His father sat at his desk by the one window not shuttered, sconces lit at this time of day to keep the shadows from all but the darkest corners. A steaming teacup sat before him with folders and the morning paper, and it was only slowly that Draco Malfoy looked up from his morning affairs. ‘Scorpius.’

Scorpius swallowed, but his throat remained dry. ‘Dad. I’m back,’ he said, as if it were unclear.

‘So I see.’ Draco leaned back and made an arch of his fingertips. His hairline had receded further in his absence, pale face more drawn and worn, and dawn light crept from behind to silhouette his gaunt form. Malfoy men tended to age with dignity, but fresh setbacks to the family had taken a heavy toll. ‘Two years trying to elevate our family interests to the international stage.’

‘Elevating our family interests on the national stage turned out to be a terrible idea, so there was nobody left to disappoint but the rest of the world.’

‘Or not disappoint. Your reports have been timely. Accountancy’s finance reports prove them to be more than hot air. Our physical fortunes, at least, are secure.’ At last, the corner of his lip curled with what from Draco was the warmest of smiles. ‘You’ve done admirably.’

_I_ _’ve been running._ Only now when something loosened inside him did Scorpius realise it had been pinched in there for years. His exhale held relief at more than just his father’s immediate reaction. ‘The offices in New York and Shanghai can fend for themselves. There’s not much international magical business that occurs where Malfoy Enterprises doesn’t hold some sort of interest or contract.’

‘Except for in Britain.’

Scorpius pulled up the chair across the desk. ‘Dad, what’s _happened_? I know things have been rough -’

‘Twenty years.’ His father’s eyes were cold, but as Scorpius looked he saw more exhaustion than emotional distance. ‘I spent twenty years clawing back the family name. Gave away half a fortune to good causes, invested in redeveloping Britain’s magical infrastructure with so many old families dead or locked up or leaving, their contributions snatched away. And it lasted only until Britain found it _useful_ to scapegoat us.’

‘Because of my project.’

Draco’s tea was set down firmly. ‘The only thing of which you are guilty, Scorpius, is having the ambition to change the world. Until Stortford. Until wizarding Britain decided to tuck its tail and turn its back on the future, and skulk back to the shadows, and we were an easy target to blame, because for all our hard work there are very few people left who will defend the name “Malfoy”.’ His lip curled. ‘What bitter irony that Granger, of all people, burnt with us.’

He wanted to tell his father that it wasn’t over. That there was still time, that grief and isolationism might fade over the years, that the future marched on, and that there were still very few doors they couldn’t force open with money, with the fortune he’d rebuilt these two years away. But he knew it wasn’t just about that. All his life his father had been a figure of fire and vigour, saddened and worn by war and guilt but not bent or broken. But there were only so many battles a man could wage and taste bitter defeat, and that ached in Scorpius more than his bruised cheek or battered knuckles or worn shoulders.

He breakfasted with his parents in the main dining room as they all pretended it hadn’t been freshly opened for his return. Tribby threw open the shutters and let the morning light stream in, anaemic as it was this time of year. The food spoke of a pantry desperately raided for something more than the basics, which was a true cause for concern as it wasn’t much like his parents, even in hard times, to not give themselves the basic luxuries of good foods. The catch-up was about as pleasant as he’d expected; his mother still kept her old friends who would not turn their backs on her socially for the Malfoy name, but it seemed more like busywork to keep her entertained rather than the public interests and causes he remembered her championing in before. His father was even more isolated, his circles transformed over the years from fellow sons of Death Eaters to more outstanding members of society, only for them to turn their backs on him in recent months.

It made Scorpius unsure if he left for the company offices after breakfast out of desire to finish his business obligations, or if he already wanted an escape. Coming to central London in mid-morning light was like bursting to a surface of colour after drowning in the dreary grey of the unattended Wiltshire countryside. In the years when it looked as if magical Britain would join the twenty-first century, new developments in Southwark had been bought up by wizarding investors to be carefully nudged out of the Muggle eye, allowing magical companies to take up office space with good connections to the Ministry. What had at the time been the newly-fledged Malfoy Enterprises, his father keen to turn his inheritance into goodwill and prosperity for the community, had been among the first to take on the top floors of one of the high-rises.

Plenty of wizards might turn their noses up at a party with the Malfoys, but there were still enough who’d take their money for a good job. Most of them were even faces Scorpius recognised despite his absence, and as the boss’s son and the cause of the company’s continued fortunes, his hike across the floors to the top office was waylaid with repeated greetings. His bruised knuckles protested at all the enthusiastic handshakes, his bruised cheek protested at the continuous pasted smile, and with how little sleep he’d got he was bone weary by the time he got to the executive offices.

Annabeth Slade was his father’s assistant and had been a few years above him at Hogwarts. She was a short woman who’d always been a bit too perky for his tastes, and he couldn’t imagine how dour Draco had managed. ‘Mister Malfoy; your father said you’d be coming in and making use of his office.’ She stood from her desk outside the office door, already bearing a stack of folders. ‘I took the liberty of preparing some briefing memos from the international offices.’

‘You know, Annabeth, I was going to be satisfied with sitting down with a coffee and looking at how our finances have been going up on a pretty chart for the last few months,’ Scorpius sighed, but took the folders. ‘It’s good to see you, too.’

‘Yes, sir; I can go and get you a coffee but honestly your father doesn’t keep much in. We usually send someone running down to the Muggle shop around the corner that does a decent Colombian, if that’s your thing -’ But she’d been following him into the office, and so almost walked into his back when he froze in the doorway.

The so-called executive office was supposed to be where the head of the company could access information on all business affairs at the snap of his fingers, where he could hold his meetings and receive all guests. It was supposed to be the beating heart of Malfoy Enterprises, only Scorpius found himself staring at bare walls and ancient furniture covered in dust. ‘…Annabeth.’

She poked her head around him. ‘Sir?’

‘When was the last time my father was _in_ the office?’

‘Um…’

Scorpius groaned, and went to toss the folders on the desk. _This is why he wanted you back. He_ _’s sick and tired of running things._ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Step one. Coffee. Step two: consider importing that entire coffee shop into the lobby. Do I have anything lined up before lunch?’

‘No, sir; you said you were going to acclimatise yourself once you were back from Albania.’

‘Right. Keep it clear. And get me that coffee,’ he groaned, sinking into the large chair behind the broad, ancient, leather-inlaid oak desk that was supposed to infer traditionalist grandeur and now made it look like he didn’t know how to keep his offices clean. It was just as well he didn’t have any meetings that morning. But he’d planned sensibly, planned for going over the reports he didn’t have access to while abroad. In Albania he couldn’t see the reports from Shanghai or New York, and while he knew the collective fortunes of Malfoy Enterprises were going up, for a long time he’d lacked an overall image.

It took him three hours to put one together. Or, in truth, it took him ninety minutes; the rest of the time was double-checking his maths, getting out reports from other offices, and trying to figure out what he could do with the one, inalienable fact that placed a tarred lining on the white, fluffy cloud of Malfoy Enterprise’s fortunes.

‘No way around it,’ he muttered bitterly, draining his fourth cup of coffee - he suspected Annabeth had found a supply from somewhere in the building, rather than going on multiple runs to the Muggle shop - just as there was a knock on the door and his assistant stuck her head in.

‘Your lunch appointment, Mister Malfoy.’

Scorpius put down the files with relish, and got to his feet as the visitor was ushered in, door shut behind him. ‘Al! You’re a sight for sore eyes!’

Albus Potter beamed as he crossed the office to greet him with a backslapping hug. ‘So good to see you, Scorpius.’ He pulled back, grin going wry. ‘You’re a bloody state.’

They had never been much alike in looks; Scorpius felt Albus was unfair to describe himself as ‘average looking,’ though he knew his oldest friend worked hard to not stand out in a crowd. Lean and dark haired, green eyes sat piercing and assessing in a face that better suited smiles than frowns, though by the looks of him Albus had done far more of the latter in recent years. Scorpius was taller, blond hair fastidiously tidy and more inclined to expensive robes tailored to his broader frame, grey eyes just as inscrutable as the usual expressions on his chiselled features. As children, Scorpius had always been the more outgoing and exuberant and that had changed little with adulthood, but there was a new tarnish to Albus’ shine beyond his usual thoughtful nature.

‘You try being stuck in Paris for twelve hours and be fresh as a daisy,’ Scorpius said, lies easier with practice. ‘I had to eat a day-old croissant, Al. The wine came with a screw-top, it was utter anarchy. And you’re hardly bright eyed and bushy-tailed yourself; work keeping you up all hours?’ They both sat, Annabeth due to deliver sandwiches soon.

Albus grimaced. ‘I had a late night emergency. Some wizard decided to go vigilante on some Muggle thugs in Tower Hamlets, so we got the call at two in the morning.’

Scorpius fought to keep his expression studied. ‘That’s _terribly_ dramatic. I assume it’s new, and isn’t the most recent fad in Britain nobody told me about?’

‘This is new. You get hate crimes, of course, and those have only been on the rise since Stortford. And sometimes you get incidents where a wizard played Good Samaritan on a Muggle in trouble, but those are often self-reported. This was nothing like that, though. We’re talking Muggle organised crime, in a place they were keeping the people they’d trafficked into the country. Someone knew what this was, where they were going, and made a surgical strike.’

‘And I thought your job these days was more about wrecking Muggles’ phones,’ said Scorpius wryly, stacking paperwork. ‘It’s probably something personal, some friend-of-a-friend by some Muggle-born. I mean, I assume you confirmed magic at the scene.’

‘Confirmed.’ Albus shrugged. ‘They’re an idiot, anyway. Hitting a group like this Kane Syndicate isn’t going to do anyone good. Unless they can get every single person they freed out, living somewhere secure with gainful employment, the reports suggest these people don’t manage to get very far. A group like this is going to hunt them down again for the sake of their reputation. So unless this magical guardian angel fancies going to war with Muggle organised crime, all they’ve done is give these people one night of freedom and future nights of hell.’

Scorpius twirled his pen in his fingers, hoping the fidget came across more as disinterest. ‘How’ve you been otherwise?’

‘Sorry, yeah. You didn’t call me up here for me to bellyache about work.’

‘I said I’d be here so we could catch up.’ Scorpius’ lips curled. ‘It’s my mistake if my agenda was so non-specific it didn’t forbid bellyaching.’

‘There’s a lot of it to do. For me and everyone. Britain’s gone really miserable since you left - since Stortford. Everything we talked about at Christmas is true, Dad’s still got people trying to push him into early retirement, Aunt Hermione is starting to become the butt of the _Daily Prophet_ _’s_ jokes now it’s fallen in behind Minister Edevane and she looks like some anti-establishment crank. At least Mum’s still got Quidditch.’ Albus sighed. ‘There’s talk of more stringent laws for handling Muggle-borns coming into Hogwarts. Just as the Statute is at its hardest to keep thanks to Muggle technology, wizarding Britain is running back to the Dark Ages.’

Scorpius’ face set. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Sorry.’ He winced. ‘You hardly need a lecture on the state of things. What about your end?’ A glint of apprehension entered Albus’ eye. ‘Why are you back?’

_You mean, am I staying?_ ‘I only left because the company needed real leadership abroad to establish our international offices,’ sighed Scorpius, and Albus did him the courtesy of not scoffing at the transparency of this claim. ‘There’s no way we could set these things up from afar, and if we didn’t want the bottom of the company to drop out as British investors dumped their shares with the Stortford fallout, someone had to do it. It wasn’t going to be Dad.’

‘So you’re saying you’re done?’

‘Every man sometimes tires of world-hopping in luxury and splendour, his money and name opening doors wherever he goes.’ Scorpius gave a hapless shrug.

Albus’ smile was cautious. ‘Good. Look, I understand why you needed to be somewhere… not here… for a while. But I - but it’s been rotten boring without you.’

‘My end wasn’t as exciting as it sounded on my own. More lone loser than dashing world adventurer.’ Scorpius knew that was as close as they, friends for a decade and a half, would come to admitting they’d missed each other. ‘But I need to be honest with you, Albus. I’d like to stay, only I’m not sure I’m going to have a choice.’

‘What do you mean?’

Scorpius gestured to the stacked paperwork. ‘I think Dad’s been shoving his head in the sand about this, but I’ve been looking at our company-wide finances. Where’s performing well, where isn’t. And if something doesn’t change, it’s not going to be cost effective to keep the British office.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘That nobody wants to do business with the family name. That at best they think of us as pie-in-the-sky developers, thanks to the Renaissance Initiative, or at worst - well. You know what they think at worst.’ Scorpius leaned forward. ‘That’s part of why I’m back. My work abroad is done. If I can set up successful offices there, I can maybe turn things around here. This is where it matters.’ That last came with an emphatic stab of the pen.

Albus’ brow had furrowed as he watched him talk. ‘You know that if this country can’t see past all the good your family’s been doing the last twenty years - if they chase you out because of your grandfather and those who came before, and ignore what you and your dad have been doing - then that’s on them, right? That’s not your failure.’

‘Maybe,’ said Scorpius, meaning he completely disagreed. ‘But this is the country we hurt. The land of the people we hurt. It doesn’t much matter if we look good in New York if all our past sins lie festering in the sun in Britain, does it? Our legacy already has corpses; they don’t need to be stinking ones.’

‘You can’t make amends for something you didn’t do.’

‘The Malfoy name used to be about power used to hurt others. Until it means power used to help, I’ve turned nothing around.’

‘Sure,’ said Albus, looking like he wanted to argue, but then Annabeth arrived with the sandwiches. The rest of lunch went pleasantly, Scorpius catching up with the bulk of Weasley family gossip, aside from a few judiciously avoided topics, Albus getting regaled with tales of world travel. But it was over too soon, Albus wiping his mouth with a napkin and getting to his feet after a half hour. ‘I’ve got to get back to the office; this vigilante thing means a lot of paperwork. But I’ll catch you later, right?’

‘I was thinking Tornadoes game next week,’ Scorpius suggested. ‘Good luck with the vigilante.’

His smile disappeared the moment Albus had shut the door behind him.

The windows stretched from floor to ceiling and granted a dizzying view of tumbling London as he strode over, enough to cause vertigo if Quidditch hadn’t given him a good head for heights. Years as a Beater had given him the build, too, which time abroad in sometimes remote parts of the world had only hardened. But he’d been across the globe to come back here, summoned by family and duty. And into the darker streets of London than the business district that shone before him, sent by friendship and exhaustion. Not a physical exhaustion, but one which tugged at his soul after years of trying to make a change, and then years of giving up. Exhaustion at settling for the hand the world was dealt. Exhaustion at doing _nothing_.

But Albus had hardly been wrong about anything. A group like this Kane family wouldn’t just let escaped abductees go. And people smuggled into the country illegally didn’t have many options, and even fewer if they wanted to stay hidden.

Scorpius looked down at his knuckles, where a bruise blossomed from the one punch he’d had to throw last night. Punching wasn’t his first choice, but when he had two big and tough men bearing down on him, he’d only had a split second to act. One had taken a spell to the face. The other had needed something more hands-on. It had been fast, and ill-considered, and he didn’t really know what he was doing with violence, but he’d promised Lukas he’d do what he could for his sister. Muggle authorities had been little to no help, so he’d taken matters into his own hands. One last time.

Like it had been one last time helping the young couple in Singapore with the mugger. Like it had been one last time with the flood in Pakistan.

_That was different. Those were situations in front of you. You couldn_ _’t do nothing._ Then he thought of the storage room behind the old kitchen, and the pale, demoralised faces behind it.

_Time to do more._

 

But first, he had to do something important; something he’d put off all night and all morning with work, responsibilities, apprehension. First, he had to catch up on sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t meant to frighten the girl, but there were only so many ways he could appear in a window at night and not scare the wits out of someone. To her credit Anita didn’t scream, but she did shrink back against the closed door with a startled whimper when his silhouette blocked out the streetlight.

‘Easy.’ Scorpius kept his voice low, toneless. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘You - it’s you.’ Her finger snapped up even as she stammered. ‘Last night.’

‘Yes.’ He swung his legs over the windowsill and perched there. The same robes as last night hung over him, and he was grateful for the dark that disguised the dried blood he’d yet to clean off. A hood pulled low shrouded his face; he didn’t want to put her in a position where she had to describe him or lie. ‘And you should have been harder to find.’

‘We - I went as far as I could.’

He couldn’t blame her. He’d freed her and the others into the streets with nothing but the clothes on their backs and, like a fool, thought that enough. So they were only a dozen streets over in another abandoned, run-down building the like of which London boasted more and more of these past ten years. He’d spotted her out nearby and followed to scale an alleyway wall and arrive here. When the hardest part had been staying out of sight he suspected members of the Kane Syndicate, with no need for discretion, would have it even easier. So they were in what looked like it had once been a storage cupboard, still packed with boxes of reams of paper nobody had bothered to cart away.

‘I know. I shouldn’t have let you loose,’ said Scorpius, then rushed on as she shrank back again. ‘Not alone. You won’t last a week out here before you end up back in their hands. Or someone else’s. Stupid of me. You should go home.’

She frowned. ‘Home?’

‘Your brother Lukas. He’s still there. He worries about you.’

‘You know - who _are_ you?’

‘Here to help.’ He reached into his robes, pulled out a roll of notes, and tossed it to her. ‘That’ll get you there. Try to help the others, too.’

Anita caught it, eyes wide. ‘I don’t… no passport. Most of them don’t speak English, or very little. Those men, they don’t treat us well, but… we work. Nobody will hire us for a good wage.’ She swallowed hard. ‘For some, they told a lot of lies to get us here. For others, it’s still better than where we came from.’

‘The police?’

Even her fear didn’t stop her scoffing. ‘If you thought police would help, why did you come? Months in jail. Deportation. For some, that’s worse.’

‘Then what’s your plan?’ He tried to not sound frustrated. It wasn’t her fault he’d not thought this through. But all he got was a mute shake of the head. ‘Someone hires you here, doesn’t ask too many questions - you going to go to work?’

‘Nobody will hire except the Kanes. If I go further away, it will be someone just like them.’ Anita shrugged the shrug of the hapless who had accepted their fate.

He ground his teeth together. ‘Keep that money. Use it to lay low. Give me some time.’

‘To do what?’

‘You can stay hidden from the Kanes here?’ Scorpius asked, then shook his head. ‘Stupid question. Stupid suggestion. You can’t give me time. I can give _you_ time.’ He lifted his head, eyes glinting in the gloom as they locked on her across the dark, cramped room. ‘Do you know where I can find them?’

 

* * *

 

 

A British pub with the right licensing still couldn’t be open for business after one in the morning. That didn’t stop many from holding a lock-in, where customers put money behind the bar before it shut and the pub could lock its doors and keep the drinks flowing. They could claim they were running a private party, and for local establishments who knew all their regulars and could kick out unknowns or troublemakers, it was a time-honoured tradition.

The Met didn’t care enough about this part of Tower Hamlets for the pubs to be that careful about their lock-ins. And the Two Brothers pub, owned by some off-shoot of Kane family, wasn’t the sort of place the Met could afford to care about _at all_. But even someone like Anita, carted between whatever illicit labour work they needed her to do, could tell him this was the place to find them, their enforcers, drug runners, other members. The kinds of people who’d be sent out to hunt lost property, like people broken out of one of their holdings. He couldn’t take them all out. But he could give them bigger worries than some lost sheep, and buy everyone enough time for him to fix this problem.

Streets around here were only three or four storeys high, and at this time of night the _snap_ of an Apparition was going to draw too much attention. The roads and pavements were quiet, so to get a good view of the Two Brothers he’d had to go to the end of the road, make sure the coast was clear, and shimmy up a drainpipe. It had groaned under his weight, and holding his wand hadn’t made climbing easier, but it _did_ mean he’d had a Levitate spell at the tip of his tongue if he fell. Better to shake the Statute in a quiet part of shitty London late at night than split his skull. But he could skulk across slanted rooftops and find a good vantage point to watch, and wait.

It took a lot of waiting. An eagle-eye spell gave him a good glimpse through windows, unhelpfully stained as was pub tradition, and so movement beyond was blurry at best. But lights still shone and movement still shuffled from inside. Anita had assured him that after closing time, the only people inside would work for the Kanes. They would bond, talk shop. He could make out groups in deep conversation, spot figures by the window with mobile phones pressed to their ears. A hot-bed of intelligence and information, if only he could get his hands on it. No spell was going to give him vision through walls, no spell was going to let him hear through them. So he waited.

Some groups left. Only in ones and twos, most of them not that distinctive, not that interesting. One in a rumpled suit, talking on a phone, and Scorpius could still only catch snippets of conversation though he strained his ears through the stillness of night. Not worth a move. And he couldn’t afford to hit this place. Not yet.

It was three in the morning before six burly men laughed out the door. They lingered a moment on the pavement, joking and shoving, and behind them lights began to wink off. Closing time at the Two Brothers, and these were the last. Though drunk, they walked like the sort who knew how to handle themselves, and knew nobody was going to try anything, and before too long weaved off in the same direction. The eagle-eye spell confirmed his suspicions; he’d spent some of the previous night watching the dilapidated restaurant to be sure he was at the right place, and several of these men had stopped by there. They were definitely associates of the Kanes, and the kind who got their hands dirty.

A spell absorbed Scorpius’ landing when he dropped off the rooftop at the corner, and he stuck to the shadows as he followed. The same spell that let him squint through windows from afar let him keep his distance as he followed, as they moved from the busier streets to quieter residential districts - but not quiet enough. He hissed an oath when one broke off for a different road, and wondered if he was going to have to be stupidly ballsy or give this all up as a bad idea.

Then they reached the cycle path through the park, with its intermittent lights and good distance from where anyone halfway respectable might see or hear anything. Here, out in the open, without anyone to see, he had more options. He had to keep his distance more, walk off the path through darkness and trust his night-vision. His window of opportunity was limited, and he still had to close the gap if he was going to have a hope.

His first barrage of spells, nothing the five men would hear, doused the nearest lampposts and pitched them into sudden darkness. They stopped, surprised noises turning in seconds to chortling at their own startled reactions, mockery of each other -

_Stupefy_.

\- one fell before Scorpius got there, and by the time they’d realised something was going wrong, he was a silhouette twenty feet away and casting again.

_Locomotor Mortis_.

It was an uncomfortable reality that he needed them dropped by more than spells they’d shake off by the next day. Which was why he was close enough for the other three to rush him.

Scorpius didn’t side-step the first punch, which was swung at his head only to impact the shield inches away with a bone-shattering crunch. As that man howled and reeled, Scorpius kicked his leg, making the knee lock - then break. He dropped, and now Scorpius was moving, ducking under a swing from the second man, and slamming his shoulder into his midriff. Ribs creaked at the impact. It wasn’t enough. A magical blast in the gut that sent him flying back to land in the dirt with a fresh crunch was, though. At least one thing would be broken.

Then the third man’s fist slammed into Scorpius’ back, and this time he didn’t have a shield up. With a grunt he fell to one knee, then there was a second blow on the back of his head, and the world spun.

‘You picked the wrong fucking crowd, mate -’

Scorpius rolled. The third swing hit air, then he was on his feet again, arm up to block another blow. This man was big and trained and faster than him, and it took all Scorpius had to keep his distance, not be hit again, as his head spun too badly for him to wordless cast, as he fought to keep a grip on his wand without risking losing or breaking it. Then he took a blow to his gut from the thug, and he staggered back with a wheeze.

‘You the same smart arse who hit us last night? You need to learn how to count better.’

‘Yeah,’ Scorpius groaned as the thug advanced. ‘Try to count through this. _Confundo_.’

Head clouded, the burly man’s swing was so lazy that Scorpius could sidestep even when winded. He could have finished him off with another painless Stunning spell. But this wasn’t like last night; his mission wasn’t to be in and out with efficiency, wasn’t to to remove these men as immediate obstacles. He needed the Kane Syndicate to wake up with five of their bruisers in hospital, the day after a half dozen of their guards had ended up in the tender care of the Metropolitan Police.

So when that man dropped, and the first two he’d felled with spells were beginning to shake off the magic, it all had to get a little bit more personal.

It was to the man whose knee he’d shattered, who’d broken his own fist on his shield, that Scorpius staggered to when he was done. He lay groaning and whimpering, and didn’t do more than moan when Scorpius rolled him over to grab him by the front of his hoodie. ‘Last night wasn’t personal,’ Scorpius snarled. ‘Tonight wasn’t either. You’re off the streets at least a few weeks like this. Recommend you stay there, because I’m coming for the rest of you. Spread the word.’

If he was heard or not, he couldn’t tell. But it hadn’t been a quiet fight, and even if most people wouldn’t come investigate a scrap in a dark park in the early hours of the morning, it wouldn’t do to linger. Besides, he was going to need somewhere discreet to Disapparate home, as it was going to be hell to concentrate well enough for that through bruised ribs and a throbbing skull.

But it was worth it. As now the Kane Syndicate had something more to worry about than some lost ‘property.’ And less manpower to worry with.

He hoped.

 

* * *

 

 

He made it home before dawn could tug too firmly at the black curtains of night, letting himself into the Manor through the back door and slinking to his room. There was no sign of anyone noticing his comings and goings, not even Tribby, and so he could sit on the edge of his bed, peel himself out of now thoroughly worn and stained robes, and try to see to his injuries. The right side of his ribcage was the big concern, ginger to the touch, already red and likely to turn some awful purple shade with time. The back of his head throbbed. He knew some simple charms to at least soothe and aid healing, but lacked anything more fast-acting, and the only mercy of the whole affair was that he hadn’t been hit in the face again. That would be harder to explain.

He didn’t remember curling up in his old bed, or even closing his eyes, but the next thing he knew the bright morning light soaked through his windows and Tribby was rattling around the bedroom.

‘Breakfast, Master Scorpius, while it’s still morning!’ A tray of tea and porridge were placed on the bedside table, then the House Elf set about blinding him more by pulling open all curtains. ‘Tribby would have let you sleep longer, but Mistress _insisted_ -’

Scorpius gave a moan that was more inhuman than asleep, then sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘Yes, _thank_ you, Tribby, that’ll be all!’

When he was fed, washed, dressed, and heading downstairs, he found his mother sat in the morning salon with the paper and a tea. ‘You had a late night.’

The tension to her voice had him pause. ‘I didn’t realise this was an offence worthy of House Elf-based retaliation.’

‘You didn’t disturb me.’ Astoria turned a page with indifference. ‘Tribby reported you weren’t in until four.’

Tribby was going to be a problem. Scorpius rubbed the sore back of his head. ‘I had catching up to do.’

‘It won’t have been with Albus. I hear he works _all sorts_ of hours.’

‘Al wasn’t the sort of company I was interested in.’ He tried to keep his mother’s gaze, and it wasn’t too hard to quietly plead her to not ask questions. She just had to reach a different explanation of his coyness.

Astoria sighed and put down the paper. ‘ _Well._ ’ She pursed her lips. ‘I thought it would be nice if we spent the evening as a family. It might lure your father out from his office.’

At that Scorpius’ gaze sobered, and he pulled up a chair. ‘Did he tell you about the state of the British company, Mum?’

‘If he hadn’t, this would be a terrible way to break the news.’

‘We can’t justify keeping the building and the staff, not if this continues. We’ll be best off uprooting everything to the New York offices. Including…’ His voice trailed off with a wince.

‘Including anyone leading the business itself. Yes.’

He leaned forwards. ‘I doubt your or Dad wants to move to the US. And I didn’t travel the world to fix the company only to keep on running it from abroad.’

‘If you know how to change our fortunes, Scorpius, I’m sure your father is all ears,’ said Astoria, as if Scorpius hadn’t been making most of the important business decisions for the last while already.

But it was clear he’d got as much from his mother as he could expect, and he picked up the paper once she put it down. ‘What’s going on in the world?’

‘Minister Edevane is trying to pretend he’s more than hot air, xenophobia, and self-interest; there are attempts at reopening trade agreements with Romania.’

‘Are Romania going to boot out the dark wizards in government?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then I imagine Edevane will give us a shining rendition of his party pleaser, be all talk and no trousers, and nothing will come of it.’ Scorpius pretended to be more interested than he was, instead rifling through the paper in hunt for any references to the Muggle world, or London, or Obliviators. It seemed unlikely one minor case would hit the press, and it wasn’t like the Obliviators to blab about offenders, but when the Potter name was associated with something, it could leak into the everyday conversation of even the most uninterested of wizards. But it he was safe for now, and didn’t expect his foray last night to reach the ears of anyone who might bring in the Muggle law, let alone magical.

Trying to disguise his relief, he tossed the paper down. ‘Dinner together. That will be nice. I have some business to get to.’

His mother sputtered and looked like she might object, but he didn’t give her the chance to gather her words before he’d kissed her on the cheek and left. He wasn’t lying that he had matters to attend to, only it wasn’t strictly business. But the Manor was as dim and dreary as it had ever been, nothing from the gentle, relaxed dignity of his childhood, and staying there made him feel like he was being smothered by a grey, musty blanket.

A quick Floo trip had him through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, which proved a veritable carnival of life and colour in comparison. In truth it was one of the quietest times of the year for the shops, the back-to-Hogwarts surge finished, the slow march to Christmas not yet begun. But it was his first time in almost a year he could stand in British wizarding society, surrounded by voices speaking in a language he recognised, a _culture_ he recognised; he could wrap his robe-coat around his shoulders to shroud against the fine October drizzle and feel like he was finally home.

Or he could, if he turned his head and squinted and blocked out his ears a little. The Diagon Alley he remembered had been brighter, cheerier, and it had nothing to do with the weather. The British witches and wizards he remembered didn’t move with such hunched shoulders, such apprehensive desperation. He could taste the tension, that knife-edge of fear, that desire to be out of doors for as little time as possible, as if prying eyes of the enemy might land upon them at any moment.

_Secrecy is Safety_. That had been the election slogan of now-Minister for Magic Edgar Edevane, the man to force-feed wizarding Britain the diet of fear and isolationism that had brought the great Hermione Granger low. And she had not been the only casualty.

He found another exactly where he expected: in the beating heart of all of Diagon Alley’s colour and joy. The shining lights that lied and said there was no desperation beyond this point, the bright golds and reds bursting from every seam of the building and promising childish indulgences lay beyond. In that, at least, Scorpius could agree, for so much of why he had come to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes was about the damage done by the immature expectations of a young man who had tried to change the world and found it immovable.

Again, this was not the time of year for the shop to flourish, with Hogwarts students far away and Christmas shopping not yet begun. The tinkle the front door was not lost amid a din of excited voices or products on the verge of exploding. Bombastic music piped from an invisible source, bouncing over the heads of the smattering of young families moving between the aisles, the odd burst of sound as a small child poked the wrong thing - or exactly the right thing. Even if this time of year was a poor litmus test, Scorpius had to wonder if a place so wholly unsubtle in appearance and philosophy had struggled these past two years.

It did not look as if it kept the staff engaged. But then, manning a shop was work to which the talents of the one employee he could see were wholly unsuited. She sat behind the till, leafing through a dry-looking magazine, and while she put it down and assumed an expression of courtesy when any customers needed her attention, he could see the smile did not quite reach the eyes.

_This is not what you were born for_.

Scorpius didn’t mean to be discreet as he advanced, but his footfall was naturally light and downright inaudible compared to the excited thumps of children and weary thuds of parents, so when he reached the till and said, politely, ‘Miss Weasley,’ it looked like he almost gave her a heart attack.

Rose Weasley dropped the magazine, and her fumbling to grab it had her knock over a display of fake wands. Scorpius’s hand shot out, but they still exploded in his grasp into squawking birds or rubber chickens; one burst out of his grip with a sound like a trumpet as it turned into confetti, and there he stood before her, in his good robes, clutching a squeaky bone and covered in glitter, face impassive.

‘Oh hells - Malfoy?’ Rose burst to her feet, real wand snatched up to disenchant the products with the most conservative and efficient of flicks. This alone had been enough to make her coiled, brown-red hair burst from its tight restraints and go wild to frame a wide-eyed face; in all his years of knowing and working with her, she had always looked as if her tidy demeanour was ready to explode the moment something tripped her up or sparked her enthusiasm. ‘Shit, shit -’ Then she realised she was chanting oaths in a children’s shop and clamped her mouth shut, gaze going suspiciously to the aisles of customers.

‘I see your reflexes are a _finely honed machine_ , Weasley.’ Scorpius stepped back, dusting himself off.

‘When the hell did you get back in the country?’

‘Yesterday morning. More pressingly, why the hell do you still work here?’ He hadn’t confirmed it with Albus; that would have been too tight a tango with guilt, and he made it worse by lying as he carried on. ‘I stopped by for supplies. That’s all.’

Rose tucked her wand into her hair, which provided both useful storage and half a chance of taming it. She had to tilt her chin up to peer at him with suspicion. ‘What do you need from _here_?’

‘Gifts,’ said Scorpius guilelessly. ‘For friends. Friends’ _children_. Abroad. In the places I’ve been abroad. Nowhere does anything quite like Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. You’re world famous, you know.’ He deposited the items on the counter with more clatter than he’d have liked.

‘Shield gloves. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Extendable Ears. Bruise removal paste. Decoy Detonators.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Do you horribly dislike your friends to arm their children with some of our more outrageous pranking devices?’

‘They’re the most infamous.’ To cut this short, Scorpius placed more money than he needed to on the counter. ‘I’d also hoped I might be able to borrow you.’

‘Borrow - I’m at work, Malfoy.’

‘I can wait until your break, but I assumed I wasn’t interrupting much but your terribly important magazine reading. Look, it _is_ about business; I do have better things to do than maraud shop-girls.’

‘You and I never did business directly, Malfoy, but even that tenuous connection caused the chain of events that led to my auspicious work _here_.’ Rose waved a hand around her uncle’s joke shop, gaze still suspicious. ‘Besides, we’re very busy right now. All day.’

Scorpius looked around the quiet store, then behind the till, and caught sight of movement in the back office. ‘George! I’m borrowing your niece for a half-hour.’

George Weasley, proprietor of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, yawned as he padded out onto the shop front. ‘Borrow? You might as well take her, she’s been boring customers by explaining the exact magical science behind the design of some of the products.’

‘They _asked_ how the fake wands work -’

‘Don’t reveal my tricks!’ George shook his head at her, then stuck a hand out to Scorpius. ‘Good to see you back in the country.’

‘It’s good to be back,’ said Scorpius, shaking the hand and trying to not wince as George squeezed bruised knuckles. Some Malfoy ancestors would be incensed that the Weasley family, of all people, were the ones giving him the warmest welcomes back to Britain. Then again, that had less to do with family relationships, lukewarm as they were these days, and more about seven years as Albus’ Hogwarts roommate. ‘I won’t keep her long.’

‘Fine,’ said Rose snippily as she put on her coat. ‘Then you’re buying.’

‘Really? Because I was so keen to see what coffee you’d get on the shop-girl’s salary,’ he drawled, but still held the door open for her. Then he remembered it was a little his fault she was a shop-girl, and then they were out on the street, far less likely to be overheard, and he sobered. ‘I’m sorry about Professor Vector. I would have come back for the funeral but I couldn’t leave the Madrid business negotiations.’

That melted some of her coldness. ‘It was pretty quiet. It’s not as if most of wizarding Britain wanted much to do with her after the witch hunt screwed her work and reputation.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘We shouldn’t really say “witch hunt.” The witches aren’t the ones we normally worry about.’

‘It’s rather like magical and Muggle cultures are inexorably intertwined in ways wizarding Britain remains obsessed with denying,’ said Scorpius dryly. ‘I hope you’re at least enjoying working for your uncle.’

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ she sneered. ‘At best I get to help on the technical development of new products. I can hardly pretend imagining what’s going to mildly inconvenience someone and make a prankster’s day is what I trained for years to do.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But I don’t have much of a choice. Any think-tank or development organisation that hires me is going to force me to spend five years as the tea girl; at least here I can be the shop lackey for _family_.’

‘That’s ridiculous; the Renaissance Initiative was Professor Vector’s brainchild but you were _integral_ to the development of magical influences over Muggle technology.’

‘Please,’ said Rose, glancing up and down the street. ‘Say that a little louder; I’m sure somebody will _jump_ at the chance to hire me if they realise that I was one of the key minds behind the research project our Minister said could herald the end of wizarding life as we know it.’ She hesitated, a little awkward. ‘Besides. It was _your_ initiative.’

He didn’t know if that was credit or condemnation. ‘It was just my money.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Professor Vector had spent ten years tinkering with Muggle technology and going absolutely nowhere; _you_ were the one who decided to fund her to develop means of integrating it into wizarding society and lifestyles. She would never have hired me as a research assistant without your money, yes, but also your drive.’ They were at the teashop by then, and she seemed to take advantage of the inevitable break in the conversation that would come from sitting and ordering to say, ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, either.’

‘I’ve had other options.’ Scorpius made sure to order their coffee as strong as they could get it when they grabbed a seat; it was a safe gamble that her drinking preferences hadn’t changed.

‘I assume you’ve seen Al,’ she said as they waited, as if dead set on making sure the topic changed. ‘It’ll be good for him to have you back. He works too much these days, long nights too often. The Obliviators have gone bloody awful since the election; they’re getting marched out for pretty much anything where someone thinks a Muggle might have seen something odd -’

‘Weasley.’ Scorpius tried  to keep his voice polite, but firm. These were not unconcerning facts about Albus’ life she was sharing, but he didn’t think Albus would thank either of them for discussing him like this behind his back. Especially not when he knew Rose was talking to fill the silence, because they had never spent time together like this even when working together and she had to think something was up. ‘I’ve seen Al. I’ll keep spending time with him.’ _Hopefully on an entirely informal basis._ ‘Like I said, I’m here to talk business.’

The coffee arrived, and she clutched the mug like a defensive barrier. ‘I’m betting you don’t want to invest in the shop. I mean, if you do, you came to the wrong staffer.’

‘I’ve made a lot of contacts while I was abroad, and under the current British climate I’m going to stay cagey about who they are.’ He smiled an apologetic smile. ‘But there are people in countries more open than Britain who are _very_ interested in the work from the Renaissance Initiative. It’s all early yet, but I was wondering if you still have some of your samples.’

She sipped her piping hot coffee to hide her expression. ‘Such as?’

‘I was thinking the telecoms equipment. We were really successful at getting magically altered devices to interact directly with Muggle telephones and internet.’ He opened his hands and tried to sound sincere. ‘Right now I just want to show it’s achievable.’

Cautiously, Rose popped a sugar cube into her coffee. ‘You wouldn’t much rather show off our television interface? That was considerably more successful and the broadcast opportunities alone could demonstrate the usefulness of technology on a wider social scale -’

‘My contacts were fairly specific about their interests,’ Scorpius said quickly. ‘I get it if you don’t have the equipment any more, or if it’s too hot for you to handle right now with your current prospects.’

It was a cheap move, and he should have known it would backfire. ‘This isn’t about my _drive_. Do you really want to catapult another country down the same paths we took? Do you really want to see how another country reacts when they have _their_ Stortford?’

‘You _know_ the Renaissance Initiative had _nothing_ to do with Stortford,’ Scorpius pointed out, voice suddenly flat. ‘The public’s reaction was ridiculous, over the top -’

‘Children _died_ at Stortford, Malfoy.’ Rose’s gaze was firm. ‘Dismissive comments like that are a part of the reason public opinion turned against us.’

‘Public opinion turned against us because they wanted a scapegoat. They couldn’t accept it was bad luck, that a careless family let Muggles catch wind of their magic and made them a target for the stupid, xenophobic, and scared. It was _horrible_ that wizarding children were murdered for being different, but this is what happens if you keep societies isolated like we’ve been doing.’ He realised he’d clenched his fists, realised how tense and low a voice he was speaking in, and caught the glint of suspicion in Rose’s eyes. So he forced himself to lean back, slump. ‘And what I’m doing now has nothing to do with Stortford.’

‘You just want to go back down the same road.’

His encouraging smile tasted bitter on his lips as he forced it. ‘I just want to show some of our excellent work to people who might appreciate it, demonstrate how Malfoy Enterprises -’

‘I get it.’ Rose rolled her eyes. ‘This always comes down to the company for you, doesn’t it? You only want to change the world so long as your family name gets the credit. Two years, and you swan back in and want to open all those doors? You weren’t _here_ , Malfoy. You don’t know how bad it’s got. The Professor died in disgrace. I can’t get a decent job in my field. Mum lost the election, all of her reforms tossed aside because Britain would rather turn the clock back fifty years on integration, and now Albus is an enforcer for isolationism instead of _helping_ people. I’m not going down that road again.’

‘I don’t -’

She finished her drink quickly, without looking at him, and gathered up her things. ‘I need to be back at work. Thank you for the coffee. Welcome back to Britain.’


	3. Chapter 3

‘Remind me,’ said Bram Peasegood as his quill scratched across his report, ‘what colour was the car?’

Albus squinted across the pair of desks his shared with his partner, the bullpen at the Office of Obliviators quiet this late in the day. Of all the things he’d had to care about covering up an accidental magical backlash causing a traffic pile-up in Kent, the colour of the car that had careened into a wizard’s house was far from the most important. But he trusted Peasegood’s instincts for the minutiae of the job. ‘Dark silver, I think. One of those colours that just washes over you.’

‘Mm. I won’t waste time and see if you know the make.’ Peasegood’s smile was good-natured, but he finished scribbling and passed the report over. ‘All done.’

‘Great. I’ll get it to Wythe and then we’re done for the day.’

Silver-haired Wythe led the Obliviators, a sharp-faced witch whose office overlooked the bullpen, and one of the few staffers still here this time of evening. It was only a little past six, but the new shift had jobs away from their desks and everyone else had gone home. ‘Kent?’ she asked without looking up from her paperwork.

‘My report. Bram’s report. All covered,’ he confirmed, sliding the sheafs of parchment onto her desk. ‘It’s not desperately important it’s wrapped up today.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

Albus stood and waited as his boss plucked the papers up to study them through half-moon spectacles perched at the edge of a long nose. Wythe had only been in charge of the Obliviators since Stortford, an old-fashioned member of the office who’d been expected to shuffle off only to find her conservatism suddenly the mainstream. His old boss, Langley, had shown off his affinity for and understanding of Muggle life and his Muggle heritage in his work; suits to work, static photographs on his desk, mundane paintings on the wall. It had not ended well for him. Everything from Wythe showed sixty years of magical life.

‘I was wondering,’ he said, because he knew Wythe could multi-task, ‘if we’ve got anything more from the Met on the Kane Syndicate.’

‘No,’ said Wythe, still reading and sounding disinterested. ‘Why would we?’

‘If they’re being targeted by a wizard -’

‘We suspect.’

‘There’s no way a Muggle did what this guy did. And there’s no way for us to know if this is an isolated incident.’ Albus drew a deep breath. ‘I’d like to pull more information from the Met, maybe set up more cooperation with their organised crime divisions dealing with the Kane Syndicate.’

‘To what end?’

‘If a wizard is targeting them and we’re involved in the case, we might stand a better chance of catching this guy in the act.’

Wythe lowered the papers a half-inch to fix him with a withering look. ‘And in the meantime, place wizards and Muggles in close, professional proximity? On the off-chance this might lead to something?’

‘We have continuous procedures for how Obliviators can interact with groups such as the Metropolitan Police Service -’

‘Which include keeping it to a _minimum_.’

‘- and our covers are sufficient that we can liaise with them on the Kane Syndicate _and_ keep discreet _and_ keep an eye out for this wizard.’

‘And if this wizard doesn’t strike again, you’re weakening our cover identities with the police and would have to assist them in their investigation of mundane, Muggle crime.’

Albus remembered the cramped storage room he’d been told had been used as a prison, and shifted his weight. ‘I think the dangers of that are outweighed by the advantages in finding this guy. He could _wreak havoc_ on the Statute -’

‘He is a dissident and needs stopping,’ Wythe agreed. ‘But I think you’ve over-estimating the risk. So far we have one incident targeting a group of thugs on the outskirts of Muggle society. Who are they going to tell? Who is going to believe them?’

His jaw tightened. ‘I don’t know why this guy is doing this. But he’s still decided he has the right, because of his magic, to do what he wants to Muggles who are powerless to prevent him. Whoever they are; we’re here exactly to stop wizards from playing tiny gods against Muggles who can’t protect themselves -’

‘Oh, pull yourself together, Potter.’ Wythe tossed down the reports. ‘First, don’t get sanctimonious about the safety of Muggle gangsters. Second, remember your actual job. You’re not here to keep Muggles safe from wizards. You’re here to do whatever it takes to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. And in my opinion, allowing you further interaction with the police is a risk which outweighs the risk presented by this wizard _possibly_ striking again. What we probably have is an over-involved Muggle-born.’ She looked up and met his gaze with focused disinterest. ‘The report is fine. Go home.’

Peasegood looked like he’d realised it hadn’t gone well, and was quick to pack up and leave while Albus put finishing touches on the final records for Kent. Within ten minutes he, too, was emerging from the offices into the main lobby of the Ministry, equally quiet this time of night, and his mind was in a sufficient whirlwind of the London Met, what he’d have for dinner, Kent, the trip home that he didn’t hear someone saying his name until they were at his side, reaching for his arm.

‘Rose! Sorry, didn’t - what’re you doing here?’

His cousin looked bedraggled and harangued, but that wasn’t new for her. ‘They really don’t let you out at a civilised time here, do they?’

‘I don’t remember you caring much for civilised work hours when you did a job you cared about.’ But it came out harsher than he intended. ‘Sorry if I kept you waiting.’

She shrugged. ‘I only meant to swing by after work to see if I could catch you. But waiting five minutes became fifteen and then it sort of turned into my life.’ Her smile was faint, uncertain. ‘Buy you a drink?’

He didn’t see his family much these days. He’d left home with his first paycheck for his flat in the outskirts of London, ostensibly to stand on his own two feet and in truth to further distance himself from his father, or at least his shadow. Then it had been long years of trying to be good at his job, invested in his job, until wizarding world had turned bright idealism into a life of cynical shadows. He’d escaped and fallen into a pit, while Rose had never quite managed to achieve escape velocity. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be as casual as she was making it seem.

So he put aside his knee-jerk aversion to being dragged into his family’s orbit, and within fifteen minutes they were sat at the Horned God wizarding pub, a quieter and rather less reputable establishment than the Leaky Cauldron he suspected Rose knew from her days working for the late Professor Vector. While this piqued his interest it didn’t appease his patience, and he waited only until he slid into the booth across from her with a pint in hand before he said, ‘So what’s this about?’

Rose winced. ‘Can’t I just want to catch up with my favourite cousin?’

‘Flattered, but I’m not your favourite cousin. I’m not even in the top five.’ They’d been close, once, as close as siblings, then there’d been school in different Houses and work in different places and they’d seen each other less. Their parting of ways had been the natural consequence of growing up, but there had also been choices in there, and paths she’d gone down he had not followed.

‘You know,’ she said in a forced level voice, ‘that might change if you visited the family beyond occasions you can’t wriggle out of.’

Albus took a gulp of his pint, meeting her gaze levelly. ‘Did Dad put you up to this?’

‘I’ve not seen Uncle Harry in a few weeks.’ She lifted her hands. ‘I’m not actually here to harangue you about family; it’s not as if we have this random draw on whose turn it is to lecture Albus and finally my name got pulled out of the bad-luck hat.’

‘You really could have fooled me; it was _Molly_ last time -’

‘I know this might be hard to believe as you crawl into a pit of self-pity, Al, but we _care_ about you. And every time we see you, you look more and more miserable and spend more and more time at a job you clearly hate.’

‘I trained for years for this.’

‘You trained for years to be an Obliviator. Not an enforcer of this new world order of bullshit.’

He let out a slow breath. ‘Why are you here?’

She huffed. ‘I spoke to Malfoy.’

‘Huh.’ Another sip of his pint. He’d wondered if Scorpius would go to see her, if only to pass on his commiserations about Professor Vector. But the professor had been the lynchpin of the Renaissance Initiative, and in all the time his best friend and cousin had ostensibly worked together, it was clear they had been nothing more than faintly associated co-workers. Just associated enough to doom them both. He wasn’t wholly surprised that they’d crossed paths again, though he wasn’t sure of the point of it. ‘Yeah, he only got back in the country the other day.’

‘And already he’s getting back to work, it seems.’

‘Back? He spent the last _two years_ at work, so long as it was anywhere but here.’ He swallowed the bitterness along with another gulp of beer.

‘I don’t mean his company, though this  _is_ about the company because Scorpius Malfoy has never cared about anyone or anything as much as he cares about a business so long as it bears his family’s name.’ Rose didn’t bother to hide her disapproval. He remembered that from two years ago, where she had followed Professor Vector for the sheer thrill of innovation, and couldn’t help but be cynical about the motivation behind Scorpius’ offered corporate funding. ‘I mean his old tricks. I mean the magitech.’

Now Albus frowned. ‘He didn’t say anything to me about it.’

She turned her eyes skyward. ‘Merlin. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on and help either or both of you. Instead I’m becoming an inadvertent tattle-tale because men don’t want to communicate.’

‘What?’

‘He’s your best friend and you’ve been horribly lonely for two years and you still can’t tell him how bloody miserable your job is?’

‘I - I only saw him for _lunch_.’

‘And him! He can come to me for a favour that could cause all manner of chaos for me, for our families, but he won’t talk to _you_ about it?’

Albus blinked. ‘I’m really lost, Rose.’

She made an exasperated noise. ‘Are you going to see him soon?’

‘Next week,’ said Albus numbly. ‘Quidditch game.’

‘You haven’t been to one of those in a while.’

‘Nobody to go with.’

‘That’s patently untrue as James will get you tickets any time you choose to ask, but -’ She took a sip of her fruity cocktail. ‘I don’t know why I’m getting involved. Just maybe talk to him, Albus. Talk to _somebody_. And if you can’t talk to your best friend then I really don’t know how I’m supposed to help you. And maybe _he_ _’ll_ open up to you, though that’s considerably less my concern.’

Albus’ shoulders slumped. ‘We’ll talk,’ he said, thumbing condensation off the rim of his pint glass. ‘But I shouldn’t be lining up to spill my guts to him. I mean, there’s no guarantee he’s sticking around.’

‘I thought he turned Malfoy Enterprises into this global powerhouse with how terribly smart and cut-throat a businessman he is?’

‘Global powerhouse. Not national. He says if he can’t turn things around, he’ll have to shut the British office shut. Then he’ll be gone again, won’t he?’ He didn’t look at Rose, because he didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes. His isolation from his family might have been of his own making, but the world had done a fine job of taking everything else away from him, too.

He heard her sigh. ‘Fine. I’ll do what I can to help him.’

‘I don’t mean to ask you a favour.’ He raised his eyes slowly. ‘Do you blame him?’

She flinched. ‘Stortford wasn’t his fault.’

‘No, but his name made your little project the scapegoat for everyone. Ran him out of the country, so you had no investor. Ruined Vector’s reputation, so you had no project leader who could do work with _anyone_. And left you without a job and with a black mark on your record, which is why you have to work at George’s shop.’

‘When you put it like that,’ said Rose, a little snootily, ‘it sounds rather unfair for me to blame Malfoy, doesn’t it?’

‘It sounds human.’

‘I don’t blame him,’ she sighed. ‘But I do worry if he’s coming back and stirring all of this up. Britain has, if anything, become even _less_ forgiving of ideas which bring us closer to Muggle society in all the time he’s been gone. I don’t know if he’s aware. I don’t know if he cares while his precious legacy is on the line. And I don’t know if he’s realised that he can hurt more people than himself, than his family, if he tries to push all of this.’

‘I trust Scorpius,’ said Albus, leaning forward. ‘He’s not a fool, and he wants the best for _everyone_. A lot of people only see his name, and see him fighting for his name. The point isn’t him building power and prestige for the Malfoys. The point is him _using_ the power and the prestige of the Malfoys to do something _good_.’

‘There’s a difference,’ said Rose levelly, ‘between wanting to do good, and wanting to be _seen_ as the person who does good.’ She drained her drink. ‘Look, Malfoy aside, I don’t like the idea of you being on your own -’

‘I’m not coming to Sunday lunch.’

‘Who’s inviting you? Gran keeps an iron grip on invitation lists so you know when it’s time to suck up to the family if you get bumped.’ She got to her feet, slinging on her jacket. ‘ _I_ do drinks with Freddie and Lucy here on Friday nights. We commiserate on being the least favourite and least successful cousins. Come along, you’ll make us feel better about ourselves.’

He said he would, and with a rush of warmth that was in the moment sincere, and in the moment she looked like she believed him. But by the time she was out the door and he was nursing the rest of his pint, he reckoned they both knew it was never going to happen.

 

§

 

Dinner with Scorpius’ parents was less about forcing food down and more about forcing conversation out. It was clear his father’s detachment had taken its toll, his small-talk and interest in other people rusted from years of disuse, so Scorpius found himself running to old favourites, like dealing from a well-shuffled pack of cards whose notches he could read from the back. His mother was game and there was theoretically years of his life to catch them up on, but the dining table was huge, the room echoing, and it was hard to not drown in all the space, real and emotional.

That, and there was only so much about the last two years he was prepared to discuss.

‘We read about the flood,’ his mother observed as he mentioned the Pakistan disaster of a year ago. ‘We didn’t think it affected the magical community much.’

‘It happened very suddenly and there’s still only so much one can achieve with magic without much warning,’ he said. ‘Luckily the company was in a place to ship in what people needed. We managed to do something good _and_ get some goodwill.’

‘The Muggles were particularly lucky, weren’t they?’ Draco piped up for the first time in minutes, frowning. ‘That was in the reports; most of them managed to get away from the rising waters before they were swept away. It was just a footnote in the papers…’

_Of course it was. That wouldn_ _’t have changed if they’d all died._ Scorpius dabbed at his mouth with his napkin to hide his expression. ‘That was what I heard. Of course, they suffered a similar loss of belongings, housing. And we couldn’t do anything to help them with _that_.’

Astoria watched him cautiously. ‘You didn’t argue with the Pakistani government over that, did you?’

_No. I didn_ _’t want to draw more attention to myself._ He sighed. ‘There’s never much point in arguing against the Statute of Secrecy. Even if you could wave your wand and bring solutions when people’s lives have been literally ruined. Of course, the local wizards were back on their feet within the week, partly thanks to us. The Muggles have lost livelihoods and homes and are relying on governments who lack the infrastructure to help them.’

Draco’s jaw tightened. ‘Scorpius -’

‘I _know_ , Dad. We don’t need to make enemies in more countries, because keeping the peace is far more important than helping people -’

That was thankfully when Tribby arrived, clutching a padded envelope and still, after years of House Elf liberation, meek as he interrupted dinner for something other than waiting on the family. ‘Post for Master Scorpius.’

He took the package with a suspicious eye, not helped as he recognised the handwriting, then looked at his parents. ‘Documents from New York,’ he lied. ‘I wasn’t expecting these so soon, but I should give them a look-over.’

Astoria looked pained. ‘We’re barely finished -’

He shoved the last mouthful of beans in his mouth. ‘Sorry, Mum; this is on development projects we might move from the States. Could make the difference to the London office.’

Lie upon lie made dinner go down bitter, and he clutched the treacherous package tight as he scurried to his bedroom. Tribby had been given explicit instructions to let him tend to his own room, with some bunkum given about private corporate papers that he couldn’t legally allow anyone else to risk getting a look at. It was the kind of fib Tribby would accept and wouldn’t think to mention to his parents, though would only reasonably last so long. Then again, he didn’t intend on doing this for long.

‘Oh, Weasley,’ he sighed once he was behind the locked door and had snapped the envelope open. ‘What changed _your_ mind?’ A shake and it was in his hand, the Muggle smartphone he remembered from their time with Professor Vector. Only it was so much more than a form of communication. Rose and Vector had developed these to push the extent of how magic could interface with Muggle telecoms technology. The thing could communicate across whatever network it could reach, bounce off any tower it wanted at a greater range. And, more usefully for him, the magic made it child’s play to interface with other phones. Other connections. Other communications. There was only so much he could learn on a rooftop across from the Two Brothers pub, even with magic. But with magitech in his hands, his options were wide open.

He eyed the trunk that held what he’d started to think of as his ‘other-business-wear’. His parents were still downstairs. It was only eight o’ clock in the evening. There was plenty of time to play nice with them before getting to work. Real work.

‘You said we could spend the _evening_ together,’ Astoria pressed when she found him heading for the front door, robed overcoat hiding the nature of what he wore underneath. A glance beyond her to the dining room suggested his father had already beaten a retreat.

‘We did,’ said Scorpius with a frown. ‘That was dinner, wasn’t it?’

‘Is that how this is going to go, Scorpius? You come home, only to dash off with friends and yet more childish behaviour?’

He blinked. ‘Childish behaviour -’

‘We are not fools, Scorpius; of course we heard the reports of how you spent that first year abroad. Less in board meetings and more in night clubs?’

His gut twisted. ‘And yet, I still turned the company around, which is more than I can say for the two of you. You don’t get to be mad at me for having a little fun when I still got work done.’

‘I can if it’s at the expense of family.’

Scorpius mock-pursed his lips. ‘Putting things before family. Can’t imagine where I got that from.’

It was best to leave before letting that point linger. A night in the middle of east London was not how he’d envisioned spending his time once back in the country. He’d dreamed of it for so long, coming home to return the family to past fortunes and prestige, shake off the blame that had fallen on them for things they’d done - and things they hadn’t. But instead he put himself out there in the cold and the dark, back on a rooftop after dusk, chasing something else. Some other sense of obligation, some other sense of guilt.

And this time, as the Kane family did their work behind the closed doors of the Two Brothers pub, he could tip-tap at the little phone in his hand and, at the press of a button, see the messages flying to and from the devices inside. At the press of a button, listen to the conversations going on. This time there was no need to stalk, no need for sudden assaults on small packs of their bruisers. It was more than enough. Enough to keep him busy for hours, enough that it was long after midnight before he uncurled his aching body from his vantage point, slid down to the alleyway for a discreet apparition, disappeared from Tower Hamlets to pop into existence before the gates of Malfoy Manor so as to not disturb the wardings -

\- only to appear almost on top of Rose Weasley.

‘What the hell -’ He staggered and almost fell, so close and so near to splinching on top of her as he’d been. ‘Weasley?’

She was swaddled in her coat, perched on the steps to the gate, and stood with a triumphant gleam in her eye. ‘Had a nice night, Malfoy?’

At least he wasn’t covered in blood. At least he didn’t have fresh bruises, at least that while his clothes were hardy and well-worn, they weren’t outright suspicious. So he straightened with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘None of your bloody business, Weasley. What _is_ my business is you skulking at my home -’

‘Waiting for you. Did you enjoy my gift?’

Scorpius’ throat tightened. ‘What did you do?’

Rose reached into a pocket to pull out a smartphone that looked near the same as the one she’d sent him. ‘Trust, Malfoy, but verify. I thought it was odd you wanted my telecoms technology over some of our more impressive achievements with the Renaissance Initiative. I helped you, but I was curious. And it seems I was right.’

‘You sent me the phone to _spy_ on me?’

‘To spy on you spying.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t know what I expected, but conversations about drug deliveries and meetings on the London docks while you spent hours in the middle of east London? Why are you eavesdropping on Muggle criminals?’

Even this late, instinct had Scorpius looking up and down the drive in case they would be overheard. As if the peacocks might run and tell Tribby. He took an urgent step closer. ‘I’m not hurting anyone,’ he said, realising it was a lie even as he spoke.

Rose did not relent. ‘They talked about curious things. Of someone mysterious who’s not the police freeing some of their “employees”. Of that same person hospitalising five of their people with the warning more’s to come. Have you _completely_ lost your mind, Malfoy?’

His jaw set. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘Last time we pushed the Statute to its limits; you’re kicking it over and wizarding society is even less tolerant these days. What are you trying to do, hammer the final nail in the coffin holding the Malfoy family reputation? That would be fine, that would be your choice, but there’ll be collateral. Albus, very likely. Maybe me and Mum, again. Your associations with my family go too deep for this to not smear and damage _everyone_ who is trying to turn around Edevane’s conservative agenda.’ She took a step back, hand sliding to the wand in her pocket. ‘I can’t let you set this country back ten years, not again.’

‘ _Let_?’ Scorpius found his own wand slipping from his sleeve into his grip. ‘If I’ve been doing half of what you think I’ve done, you think I need your permission?’ He saw her hesitate, felt his chest loosen as his options opened back up. ‘How do you think this ends right here? You turning me in? Or me wiping your memory in the exact sort of abuses of magic we’re _both_ tired of. So why don’t we try this with less self-righteous accusations and more conversation? Somewhere more private than within earshot of my bloody House Elf?’

Her gaze flickered to his wand. ‘Do I get a choice?’

‘I _will_ bloody Obliviate you if you’re going to run to the Ministry.’ He grimaced. ‘Trust, Weasley, but verify.’

It was to his offices he went in the end, deathly silent this time of night. The executive suite was possibly the most private location he could find, warded and secured to keep all manner of professional information private, though it wouldn’t necessarily escape prying eyes of the boss’s son bringing a woman to his office after midnight if he got unlucky. That, he could deal with. Rose running to the Obliviators he could not.

‘Years ago, we set about trying to fix this country,’ he said the moment the door was shut behind them, and turned to find her watching him with curious, cautious eyes. Both of them still shrouded in shadows, she was silhouetted by the golden glow of night-life London stretching beyond the windows. ‘Me and Professor Vector. She had the know-how, I had the cash. And, yes, the inspiration. We were going to bring the wizarding world into the twenty-first century, we were going to bring Muggle technology that improved their quality of life to the magical world. I know we originally talked about how if we mastered Muggle technology, we were less likely to be undone by it. More likely to be on the Quaffle if some enterprising kid filmed some wizard doing magic on their phone and uploaded it before the Obliviators could get on the scene. You _know_ that’s not where I saw this ending.’

He could tell she was listening intently even if she didn’t look at him, even if she wandered the office with an intent, assessing glint in her eye. Fingers drifted across the solid wood of the desk, feeling the quality, as she soaked up the sparse decoration. The room was unfinished in its presence, waiting for him to make his mark on it or close up shop entirely, and he still didn’t know which came next. ‘I wasn’t sure you saw any further than the Malfoy family name in lights for reforming the wizarding world,’ Rose said guardedly.

‘It was more than that.’ He swallowed bitterness and moved to the fireplace to spark it to life, gentle glows spreading warmth of colour and heat to the dark, suspicious room. ‘Bring magical and non-magical cultures closer together, make wizards see how Muggles can and do live just like us.’

‘And then Stortford.’

‘When our project and my family - and your mother - became scapegoats for everyone’s fear and hatred. Driving Professor Vector out of work to eventually die in disgrace. Driving you from a career you were _good_ at to waste your mind working the tills at your uncle’s joke shop. Forcing me to leave the country to buoy up my family’s company’s interests abroad, so _something_ of what my father built could be salvaged.’

‘Except the press loved giving stories of you living the irresponsible high life wherever you went.’

‘The press are _shockingly_ easy to redirect if you give them what you want.’ He shrugged. ‘Once you’ve done that, you can move more freely. It’s amazing how much people underestimate you in a contract negotiation if they think you’re just a party animal, and it’s amazing how you can use being underestimated.’

‘This walk down memory road doesn’t explain you beating up Muggle crooks.’

‘It’s necessary to understand.’ He perched on the edge of his desk, still watching her. ‘Because you know what I saw, over and over, these past two years as I travelled? Muggles facing problems that wizards could solve like _that_.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Only we don’t, because of a piece of legislation three hundred years old. But Muggles are better now, _we_ _’re_ better. Less prejudiced, more educated, or they’re trying to be, but we’re still convinced we’ll get burnt at the stake if we show ourselves.’

‘Or _beaten to death_ \- remember Stortford?’

‘Of course I remember. Because people didn’t understand, because of all the secrecy, because - you don’t believe all of this, Weasley!’ He exploded to his feet, angry hand in the air. ‘You think it’s stupid -’

‘Yes, but I’m not the one kicking a hornet’s nest! I’m not the one jumping into the middle of London to rough up some street thugs because - because why?’

Chest heaving, he forced himself to slow down. ‘I was in Singapore when it first happened,’ said Scorpius at length. ‘It was nothing big. Passing through a Muggle section of the city and finding a young couple held up at knife point. No chance to raise the alarm. No chance of really achieving much myself without magic. So what would you do, Weasley?’

She watched him, expression flat. ‘It’s what you did that matters, Malfoy.’

‘Stopped it, of course. Without flashing lights and bright magics, but I was clearly not normal.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know if that couple said anything to anyone. I know two things: they were grateful, and they were _alive_. The laws say I should have done nothing. Would that have been right?’

‘Dealing with a problem when you come across it is different to -’

‘Then there was the flood in Pakistan. I was doing business in the magical settlement down-river, and heard. Muggles in danger of being swept away with their homes. Only one village. Only small.’ Scorpius’ throat tightened. ‘The Statute says I should have left them to drown, instead of getting everyone out.’

‘Again,’ said Rose, though she sounded less heated, ‘this is different to what you’re doing in London.’

‘The last place I was before I came home was Albania,’ Scorpius continued as if she’d said nothing. I met a wizard there, one of our sub-contractors. Lukas. He’s a Muggle-born wizard, and because of the laws out there - which aren’t much better than the laws here - he’s ended up very detached from his family because of it. He does alright for himself, but they’ve been pretty poor, and he can’t easily help them without raising questions the world’s magical governments would rather not be raised. And he travels. So when he came home to find his sister had signed up for a chance to work in London only to drop off the grid, he couldn’t do much but look into it. And discover that she’d signed up with some exceptionally dodgy people indeed, and we don’t really call this “work” so much as “people trafficking” or “modern slavery.”’

He watched as Rose’s shoulders tightened. ‘They said that, didn’t they. In the phone calls. They were looking for “the girls.”’

‘I promised Lukas I’d look into this. He had some idea where Anita _was_ , there was just nothing he could do from Albania and neither his magical government nor the British Ministry had any interest in helping him. I didn’t think, with my family’s sterling reputation in general and mine in particular as a threat to the Statute, I could get much further with my name. But I could take a look, I told myself.’ Scorpius looked down at his hand, tilted it for the golden hues from the fireplace to paint his bruised knuckles burnt orange. ‘When I took a look, I couldn’t _not_ do anything.’

‘Okay.’ Rose took a deep breath. ‘So you broke them out. Why are you _still_ chasing the Kanes?’

Now he dropped his gaze. ‘Because I’m not done. Because Anita, and others, are still stuck in London with no legal right to be there, no chance of getting a job, no money or documentation to get home, and the Kanes are, like you heard, still after them.’

There was a pause. ‘It’s almost,’ Rose said flatly, ‘as if this is a complicated situation where immediate action has consequences which also need managing.’

‘I’m working on it,’ he snapped, sitting again. ‘You heard as much as I heard tonight of their phone calls? This Rogers fellow -’

‘And what’re you going to do, beat him up?’

‘I was thinking more of trussing him up for the Metropolitan Police. The Kanes have their fingers in a lot of pies; people trafficking isn’t even their most significant business. But if Rogers runs it for them, and I can bring down Rogers and as many of his associates as possible -’

‘That _still_ doesn’t help Anita or the others,’ she pointed out. ‘And going home will hardly be a palatable option for many of them.’

‘I’m working on it,’ Scorpius growled.

‘Wonderful. Once you’ve fixed the complexities of illegal immigration and people trafficking, Malfoy, maybe we can move onto the institutionalised distrust of Muggle society in the magical world - except you tried that and it ended _very badly_.’

‘I don’t have to fix it for everyone. That was the problem, wasn’t it?’ His gaze snapped up to lock on her, frustrated and fierce. ‘But the problem in front of me. That I can do something about.’

She hesitated at that, looking away before asking, ‘Why do you even _care_? Don’t give me some bullshit about being human, people ignore the hardships of others every day for convenience.’

‘I care because I’m tired of what happens when people _don_ _’t_ care.’ Scorpius stood, still watching her. ‘So I’ve explained. What are you going to do now?’

‘You mean, am I going running to the Obliviators to report you as a massive threat to the Statute of Secrecy?’ She tensed. ‘This puts you and Albus on opposite sides, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Scorpius, deciding this was not the time to find out if she knew Albus was already on his trail to some extent. ‘But I promised Lukas. Once this is done…’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Fine, I won’t report you. If only because you’ve started this now, so you can hardly stop and leave those girls to end up worse off than if you’d done nothing. So we don’t have much choice but to try to get the Kanes off their backs and find them some better lot in life, do we?’

‘We?’

Her gaze locked on him. ‘Last time we worked together, Malfoy, I was only Professor Vector’s assistant. And we made ourselves pariahs in magical society. I’m not saying I could have stopped that, but I am most certainly done with being damned by association when I didn’t even get my hands dirty - or have a chance to change my fate. You say that you can’t possibly walk away from this situation before you. Do you think _I_ _’m_ in any more of a situation to walk away, especially when I don’t doubt that if this goes very wrong for you, it’ll still have consequences for me?’ She waggled the mobile phone, a physical symbol of all her involvement.

He swallowed. ‘I… suppose.’

‘Good,’ said Rose decisively. ‘Because you clearly don’t have a bloody clue how to use all of my magitech properly, and if we’re going to take on crime in the underbelly of Muggle London, I’ll be damned if we’re not going to do this in a halfway professional and competent manner.’


	4. Chapter 4

‘I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy,' said Cosmo, and didn't sound very sorry at all. ‘But neither I, nor my company, can help you.'

Scorpius sipped his coffee, to hide his expression and try to feel less like death warmed up at eleven in the morning. He had not slept properly, he had not spoken to his mother, and this meeting had been scheduled way too early for nothing to come of it. But at least Annabeth had made sure the office had hot drinks without a hike to a Muggle stall down the road. ‘This isn't about helping me, Cosmo. This is about us helping each other. You've struggled for years to branch out into the US, but I have shipping arrangements with some of the biggest distributors.'

‘It's not cost-effective for us to look at the States. Different cauldron standards. Different designs.'

‘That's a lie, Cosmo. You never abandoned this ambition,' Scorpius sighed. ‘Our companies did business for years. The least you could have done was send us a gift-basket with flowers when you decided to dump us. No girl likes it when the guy just stops calling and hopes she gets the hint.'

Shockingly, this did not convince Cosmo to contract Malfoy Enterprises to get his cauldron products across the pond, and within minutes Scorpius was sat alone in his office with less coffee and one less name on his company's list of reliable contacts. ‘ _Annabeth_!'

His assistant appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowed. ‘Do you see that little horn on your desk, Mister Malfoy?'

‘I -'

‘It pipes your voice out to _my_ desk. At appropriate volumes for human conversation.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘You left your sunny disposition at home this morning, didn't you, Annabeth.'

‘So did you, but one of us here is paid enough to be up all night partying and one of us has to be thrifty and stay at home with her cats.'

‘Keep on sounding as judgemental as my mother and you'll get plenty more free time with those cats.' He sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Alright, we need to bring in the big guns. Is Gus still in Singapore?'

‘The negotiations are ongoing -'

‘Tell him to wrap them up and then to come home. I'm going to need him here. And more coffee, please, Annabeth.' He'd worked with Annabeth long enough to know what he could and couldn't get away with. Basic courtesy when asking for a fresh drink could not be skipped.

‘Two?'

‘Two - I'm tired, I'm not yet a zombie -'

‘For you and Miss Weasley.' Annabeth cocked her head a half-inch. ‘She's outside, without an appointment. She insisted on waiting.'

Scorpius tried to not read too much into that tone. ‘Two coffees, then, and send her in.'

‘We have work to do,' was all Rose said by way of greeting once the door was shut. Scorpius stood to greet her, only to be hip-bumped out of the way for her to take his chair. She pulled out a Muggle laptop and opened it to show scrawling text and images. ‘I've been doing some research.'

‘You -'

‘Muggle internet, Malfoy. Not all information needs to be gathered from lurking on rooftops and overhearing people's phone conversations like some sort of creepy stalker.' Her fingers dashed over the keyboard. ‘Because from everything we talked about last night, you are _way_ in over your head.'

His complaints were cut short by Annabeth opening the door with two coffees. It was hard to tell if her expression was at Rose or Rose's computer, but it meant he had to act like it was normal until his assistant was gone and he had a fresh steaming mug in his hand. ‘When did learn all of this?'

Rose cast the closed door a quick, checking glance before returning to work. ‘My grandfather headed up the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. I had Muggle-born friends at Hogwarts. I had my own interests. Do you think I came to Professor Vector completely without knowledge of Muggle technology, without any concept of the potential in magitech? Your vision was all ideological. _Mine_ was practical.'

He didn't have much counter to that, so just pointed lamely at her coffee cup and said, ‘Milk, sugar?'

It made him wince how much she drowned the very good coffee with both. ‘I have to congratulate you, Malfoy,' said Rose at length, opening a folder. ‘You've decided to make enemies of one of the foremost crime syndicates in all of Muggle London.'

‘I assumed they're big -'

‘The Kane family have been around in some form or another for twenty years. Forget what the press has to say, forget what stereotypes have to say; most criminal enterprises in the UK are homegrown, white British. Drug trafficking, _people_ trafficking, extortion, prostitution, robbery, money laundering - you name it, they've got their thumbs in it. The good news is that it looks like their expansion into people trafficking is relatively recent, connections made with Albanian gangs to support and enable this as they can fund it from their other enterprises to get it started. The bad news is that this funding, especially from the drug trade, is huge.'

She hit a key and a picture sprang up on screen of a portly man with a shaved head, the scrape of stubble against scalp and chin showing grey to go along with his lines and jowls. Dark brown eyes, surprisingly soft, peered at the camera, standing out against pale skin. ‘This,' said Rose, ‘is Jeremy Kane. Patriarch of the family. Some prison time, mostly assault charges, suspected of lots, blah blah the Met and CPS couldn't make it stick -'

‘CPS?'

‘Crown Prosecution Service - Malfoy, you are the _worst_ vigilante, I swear. You've just dumped your fist into a pit of vipers and haven't checked how quick the venom will kill you. Anyway, he's not really the problem _himself_ , because he's got a slew of siblings, children, grandchildren who run the various wings of the syndicate, as well as, of course, employees. The Muggle economy tanked a decade ago and hasn't recovered, so welcome to British "firms" as the new big employers in working-class London.'

‘I got into this,' said Scorpius, feeling like he needed to defend himself, ‘to help a friend who was worried about his sister.'

‘Then you broke out a group of victims of people trafficking, beating up some thugs of the Kane Syndicate along the way - oh, and going back for seconds the next night, if what I overheard on the phone is correct.' She looked up at him with a frown. ‘What was _that_ all about? Were they off to do something?'

‘I mean, yes, in that "something" was going home, but it's more about the long-term -'

‘You landed most of them in hospital -'

‘ _Good_ ,' he said flatly. ‘They're enforcers of the Kane Syndicate and taking them off the streets for a few weeks can only do good. Don't look at me like that, Weasley, this wasn't some act of righteous judgement. The Kanes are looking for the girls I freed. Taking out some of their muscle not only hampers their efforts, it distracts them. I made sure to leave them a message, to let them know I'm out there and I'm a threat, so they worry about this mysterious man who appears in the night and beats the tar out of them, not missing women they can put back to forced work.'

‘You couldn't have sent them a threatening postcard?' But she sighed and looked back at her screen. ‘There are still consequences. We found out that tomorrow night Keith Rogers - he's married to Jeremy Kane's youngest daughter - is having a meeting with some of the senior enforcers of the Kane Syndicate. All _I_ overheard on the phone was something about preparations for "the exchange". Did you hear anything more than that?'

‘I did, actually. The meeting's not happening at the Two Brothers pub, but at some other bar. I can only assume there's certain separation of business interests, maybe some internal politics which helps dictate who might get patronage, maybe security reasons?' Scorpius shrugged. ‘If I go in, break that up, then that's going to set back their operations -'

‘Wait, wait. By "break it up" you mean go in there and crack some skulls?' She looked up at him, aghast. ‘Do we even know what this "exchange" is?'

‘I can find out once I've cracked skulls.'

‘And if it's something important, and all you've done is rough up some people and let them know you're onto them? Then this exchange gets rearranged or moved?'

‘I don't know this bar,' Scorpius pointed out. ‘I don't know if I can get a line on the inside to overhear anything with spells, I don't know if I can find an entry point for slipping in an Extendable Ear -'

Rose burst out laughing, and it wasn't a kind laugh. ‘ _That's_ why you bought the - you're really hopeless, aren't you, Malfoy?' She shut the laptop, shaking her head. ‘I should have figured. Okay, you let _me_ worry about how we're going to snoop around in their business. You should be thinking about what you can do for Anita.'

He winced. ‘I have an idea there. But I need a little time, and I need the Kanes too hamstrung to go after her and any of the others.'

‘Why don't you just send them to the police? They must know all sorts about the Kane Syndicate, and then _we_ don't have to do this stupid -'

His hand landed heavily on her shoulder. ‘That's not going to happen. Anita might be better off going to Albania - but she left the country willingly, happily. And that's just her story, that says nothing about why the others were so desperate they signed up for whatever got them here. If they wanted to go to the cops, they'd have done it. Sending them to the Met gets them treated not like victims, but criminals themselves. Locked up and maybe, eventually, shipped back to where they came from regardless of what they were running from.'

‘It's better than exploitation; don't be naive, Malfoy.'

‘No, _you're_ being naive, acting like governments are only out for people's best interests. And I can come up with a third way.' His jaw set. ‘Not for everyone, not by a long shot. But for these people? I can come up with a third way. Where they can have a choice.'

She shrugged off his hand, looking stung. ‘Fine. But you remember that while you're risking your fool head running around the criminal underworld of London like you can fix all of its problems. And remember that when you need _my_ help keeping that fool head on your shoulders. Literally.' She stood up and slipped her laptop back into the bag.

‘You're the one who chose to get involved.'

‘We both chose. And you don't get to decide your reasons are more righteous than mine. In the meantime...' She looked him up and down. ‘You should sleep. You look bloody terrible.'

He still had business interests to get to, so he didn't slump through the front door of the Manor until late afternoon. Tribby took his coat, and told him in tones positively frosty for a House Elf, ‘Master Scorpius' mother is in the drawing room.'

He hesitated. ‘Is that a summons?'

‘Mistress Astoria was... non-specific.'

‘That's a yes.' Scorpius skulked to the drawing room, with its view of the front gardens so she would have seen him coming down the drive, and found his mother sat reading in a comfortable armchair, giving the door no attention even though she had to know he was there. ‘Mum?'

‘Oh. Scorpius.' Astoria put down her book with a smile that didn't even try to reach her eyes. ‘How was last night?'

If she wanted to pretend everything was fine, he wasn't going to stop her. ‘It was fine, had a good time.'

‘And how's Rose Weasley?'

He froze. Had Annabeth run off to tell his parents? She was, after all, _Draco's_ personal assistant, not really his. If something had set her off, it might have explained her frosty behaviour with him that morning. But lying further would help nothing, so he cocked his head. ‘She's fine? My meeting with Cosmo, on the other hand -'

‘Sit down, Scorpius.' Legs catapulted him to obey his mother without thinking. ‘You've done splendid work for the company the past two years. I can't tell you how proud your father and I are. But we've always had... concerns about your extra-curriculars, and I dare say you're playing with fire right now.'

‘By speaking to a former business associate of mine?'

‘ _Speaking_ isn't exactly what I'm worried about,' Astoria said pointedly. ‘Your friendship with Albus is one thing, but you getting involved with the same old team as with before...'

‘Mum.' He clasped his hands in his lap. ‘I understand, you're afraid I'm stirring up old associations, and you're afraid of how that will look. I have no intention of returning to the Renaissance Initiative; I understand this would be a terrible time to explore magitech again.'

‘I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to thumb your nose at the Statute, Scorpius, not when it is now perhaps Britain's most sacred law,' said his mother, as if she could twist a knife unconsciously. ‘But you know that half of the problem your father has faced with the company on British soils is the negative associations that now beset the family name.'

_Half_ , Scorpius thought but didn't say. _The other half is camping out in his office and refusing to see the outside world._

‘People are prepared to forget that,' his mother continued, ‘but your return _has_ stirred recollections. If you wish to be involved with Rose Weasley, that's only going to further remind people of why they stayed away from us in the first place. There must be other girls -'

‘Wait.' His hand snapped up. ‘I'm not _involved_ with Rose Weasley.'

‘You said there was a girl - you went out for fun last night and I _know_ you saw her.'

‘I...' He winced. ‘I am not involved with Rose Weasley.' Simple truths were perhaps his best bet right then. ‘We were talking about business opportunities, yes, but nothing to do with the Renaissance Initiative.'

Astoria grimaced. ‘You're negotiating with the joke shop -'

‘She's a shop girl, she can barely negotiate over the tea run. But it's my fault she's a shop girl.' He was finding the easiest lies held a kernel of truth, and no truth bore deeper than guilt. ‘I masterminded the Initiative and I still run a company. She did crucial work that needed a world-class mind and now nobody will hire her but her own family to do a job for which she is _woefully_ over-qualified. Is that fair?'

‘Perhaps not. But you cannot sweep in to save others from their own choices at the expense of your other commitments - to the company, to the family.'

‘It doesn't have to be at any expense. I can find her the right position, then she's an asset to the company. I find something worthy of her talents, and those talents work for us.' He winced. ‘Yes, I've been a little sneaky, because I wanted it all resolved before anyone knew. To stop exactly this sort of concern. I'm sorry for worrying you.'

Astoria sighed, and moved to the comfortable armchair next to his, reaching for his hand. ‘No, I should trust you, Scorpius. But I do worry. You know that I honestly couldn't care less about the company's success in and of itself? But I know it means so much to your father, and means so much to _you_. I don't want to imagine what it would do to you both if we had to shut down the British office. If any of us had to leave the country for good to keep up our successful parts of the business. I'd like us all _together_.'

‘That's what I want. That's why I came back.' He squeezed his mother's hand and tasted the bitterness on his lying tongue. ‘If I can turn around the British office, then we can all relax a little.'

She pushed back her hair. ‘You said your meeting with Cosmo didn't go well.'

‘No, he still doesn't want to do business with the company. He seemed surprised to see me. So I've been thinking.' It was a lie, the notion had only just occurred to him, but he needed something to distract from his recent comings-and-goings and it was still a good idea. ‘I think we should throw a party. Here, at the Manor. Invite anyone on the who's who list that'll come. Make it the event of the season, make it clear that the Malfoy family is again open for business. People might sneer at our name, but they won't sneer at free food and drink and a chance to rub elbows.' He smiled as she brightened. ‘Friday. We can do it by then, can't we.'

There was a glint in Astoria's eye as her lips curled. ‘The challenge makes it all the sweeter, my dear.'

 

* * *

 

 

‘We have to stop meeting like this,' Scorpius muttered as he slung his shoulder bag onto his office desk. ‘People are beginning to talk.'

‘What are they more worried about? That we're involved romantically, or professionally?' Rose didn't look up from her laptop, already ensconced in his chair.

‘One of those is more likely. One of those is also more likely to bring about the collapse of modern wizarding society as we know it. So far, my mother mercifully has her priorities straight.' He hesitated, fiddling with the zip. ‘I told her I was trying to get you a job,' he said, and didn't look at her.

‘That's great; put this in your ear.' She grabbed his hand and put a small bead in his palm. He looked blank and she rolled her eyes. ‘Earpiece and microphone setup. You can hear me, you can talk to me, we can stay in touch all along.'

‘Oh.' He did as he was told, the small device a little uncomfortable, but secure. ‘I mostly said that to get her off my back -'

‘Get out.'

‘What?'

Rose pointed out the door. ‘Stand outside and we'll do a sound check. You can blather on about whatever you want, but let's make it productive.'

He frowned but again obeyed, stood at Annabeth's abandoned desk before he spoke again. ‘...but I could try to find you something in the company.'

There was a pause, then Rose's voice came in his ear like she was right next to him. ‘That's great. You're coming through loud and clear.'

Scorpius stared at the ceiling. ‘And the job? Is that something you _want_ me to try to help you with?'

‘I have a job and, more pressingly, can you hear me properly?'

‘You're clear. Will you be able to pick up on everything I say?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then are you going to respond or are we going to have a non-conversation?'

She was sighing when he let himself back into the office. ‘What job could I possibly do for Malfoy Enterprises?'

‘I don't know, but I haven't started looking yet. You're smart, you're qualified, you could do anything. So long as it's not customer-facing, apparently.' He gave her a pointed look.

‘I like my job.'

‘You're one of the greatest minds produced by Hogwarts in the last ten years, and you're working as a cashier at a joke shop for your family. Will you _please_ let me find you work that challenges you, uses your talent, and honestly gives you a wage you're worthy of?'

She had been glaring at her laptop, but now tossed her hair back and straightened to look at him. ‘Why do you care? Because I see only two reasons: you have something in mind where I can help the company, or you feel guilty that I'm in this situation. And I'm not interested in making major life changes to either support your crusade to redeem your family name, or to make you feel better. Now, do you want to talk about my work, or do you want to get down to business for _your_ idiotic escapade?'

‘You never had to join me,' he muttered, but walked around the desk to better see her screen.

‘I've got my hands on the floor-plans for the Treble Clef Bar. I am almost _certain_ this is where the Kane Syndicate keep their drug stashes before they go out to their different distributors. Which explains it as a business interest separate to the Two Brothers; I only assume they won't want to shit where they sleep, so to speak, with drugs in the heart of their operations. I thought maybe we send you in wearing civvies to try to plant a bug in the place, but there are a lot of back rooms and I'm not sure you could blend in talking like you do.'

‘I understood only _most_ words in that sentence, and what's wrong with how I talk?'

‘You sound like you fell off the back of a truck at Eton.' She sighed. ‘Bugs. Muggle surveillance device, little electronic eavesdropping doohickeys. Like your earpiece. Stick one under a table and I'll be able to overhear everything that's said within a certain radius.'

‘Oh. That's cool.'

She squinted up at him. ‘How _did_ you get by before me?'

Scorpius gave her a superior look, then fully opened his duffel bag. ‘You want to see somewhere wizards are encouraged to innovate, you look at sports. Padded and armoured robes, slimmed down as much as possible, designed to protect against falls, aerial impacts, and Bludgers.' He pulled out the hard-wearing robes he'd been setting aside for this work, laying them on the desk. ‘Beater's bat for close-quarters fighting with extra reach. And the works I bought off you and your shop: Peruvian instant darkness powder, decoy detonators. Not to mention my wand.'

‘So.' Rose pursed her lips. ‘Quidditch gear and toys? How do you even know how to _fight_? You put four people in hospital and the way I heard that phone conversation, you didn't just curse them.'

‘A man's allowed secrets,' was all he said. ‘If I try to use my wand in a fist-fight, that's a fine way to get a broken wand. When did _you_ learn how to find a private premise's floor plans from the internet?'

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘A lady definitely keeps _her_ secrets.'

‘So you want me to put a bug in the place.'

‘As discussed, you're not showing your _face_ in there.' She turned back to her laptop. ‘The man running this meeting is Keith Rogers, son-in-law of the Kane patriarch.' A few seconds, then a picture popped up on her screen. Rogers had much the same look as the other working class men of Tower Hamlets, with close-cropped hair and a lined face that made his age hard to pin down. ‘All I need you to do is get a lock on his exact location when he's in the bar, in the meeting.'

Scorpius blinked. ‘That's it?'

‘And then you have to stay within a short distance - twenty metres? - of his location.' Rose gave him a smile of a smug angel. ‘If I bounce the signal off _your_ phone to interface with _his_ phone, then I should be able to activate his microphone remotely. Record everything it picks up and pipe it back to you, and back to me.' She patted her laptop.

‘How does _that_ work?'

‘We don't have time for a complete run-down of the nature of magic's interfacing with technology,' she said briskly, ‘but in _simple_ terms, it allows devices to connect with one another in ways which mundane Muggle security software cannot protect against. This was all originally to create wizarding telecoms technology which could interface with but be secure _against_ Muggle connection.'

‘So I locate a London gangster and lurk in a back alleyway to stay close to him. All in a regular night out.' Scorpius nodded. ‘Where are you going to be?'

‘Home,' she said simply. ‘Look, with this technology we can stay in touch from across the country.'

‘Don't you have a housemate? Isn't she going to notice if you're sat up all hours on your computer?'

‘Don't you live with your parents? Don't they find it odd you're disappearing all hours?'

‘They think I'm seeing a woman.' Scorpius sighed. ‘Worst of all, they think it's you.'

Rose tossed her head. ‘ _Thanks_.'

‘That's not what - fine. I'm going to get changed and go to this bar and risk my neck eavesdropping on the affairs of modern slavers, while you can curl up with a hot drink in bed and listen to the dulcet tones of organised crime and my fists in their faces.'

‘Only if it goes wrong.'

‘If it goes right, then I'm doing nothing tonight but being some sort of signal-booster for your technology,' Scorpius pointed out. ‘This is far from how I envisioned any of this work.'

‘So far as I can tell, you didn't really envision or _plan_ any of it.'

Unlike the Two Brothers pub, this bar pressed on late into the night without formally shutting its doors. In a slightly busier part of town, nightlife continued to bustle about these London streets, so it took little effort for Scorpius - padded garb hidden under a big coat that didn't look out of place this time of year - to lurk near the front, looking like he was waiting for fellow revellers to catch up with him or he was about to sit in a store front to panhandle.

He poked his ear and muttered, ‘This infernal device is insanely uncomfortable.'

Within seconds Rose's voice came through, crisp clear as if she was right behind him. ‘You get used to it. Stop touching your ear.'

‘How can you tell I'm - can you see me -'

‘A guess.'

Considering she was right he didn't argue, shoving hands in his pockets. ‘No sign of the target.'

‘We're a little early. You need to relax.'

He leaned against a wall next to a shuttered shop front, pulling his hood lower. ‘That's easy for you to say. You're not the one stood near a gangster's lair on their own talking to themselves.'

‘That's true. You should certainly stop talking.' A pause. ‘So this means I have you as something of a captive audience. See, Malfoy, I don't believe for a second that all that happened to you while you were away was that you had an attack of conscience when you saw a mugging. Or when a flood came. And you might have been set off here to help your friend find his sister, but there are a hundred methods you could have attempted before you resorted to vigilantism.'

Scorpius pursed his lips as Rose's voice carried on, insistent in his ear, and tried to not stare too openly at the bar front. He was, for now, irrelevant in the casual crowds of the evening, but it wouldn't do to draw attention. In front of the bar a car stopped and a driver got out to remove traffic cones blocking out a parking space.

‘...It takes something big to make someone want to take matters into their own hands like this. And for all your grand ideas of the past, you were never _this_ altruistic; and I know, you're going to say that I didn't really know you before, and that's true,' Rose pressed on, Scorpius trying to push her out as the car pulled up in the empty space, the driver got out to open up the back door, and a man emerged -

‘Target sighted,' he muttered with more relief at stopping her than beginning this mission.

The change in Rose's voice was palpable, from wheedling to businesslike. ‘Location?'

‘Six metres to my south-west -'

‘I'm picking up multiple phones; you're going to need to give me something more precise, right down to the square foot at this sort of crowding -'

‘Fine,' Scorpius said, straightening, and set off down the pavement.

Rogers lingered outside the bar he owned, getting some fresh air, letting his driver lock up the car, twisting his neck to stretch it. So it was simple enough for Scorpius to slide into the crowds, slip through the masses to approach at speed. He got there just as Rogers was heading for the bar door, muttered, ‘ _this_ guy,' into his earpiece, and didn't adjust his gait when it made him shoulder-check the bigger man.

‘Oi!' Scorpius tried to keep going, but Rogers' hand snapped out to grab him by the elbow, and this wasn't time to fight. He was dragged around to come face-to-face with dark eyes, an irate expression. ‘Watch where you're fucking going.'

‘Sorry, mate.' Scorpius dropped his voice, let it slip into more east London than, as Rose had put it, fallen-off-the-back-of-a-truck-in-Eton.

Rogers didn't let go, and Scorpius' heart leapt into his throat as with his free hand Rogers patted his own trouser and jacket pockets. Then his grip loosened. ‘Just watch out.'

He'd suspected a pickpocket, so to help assuage this paranoia, Scorpius let a slur enter his voice and a weave his step as he said, ‘Sorry,' again, then turned to go. He waited until he was a few metres away, gone in the evening crowd, before glancing over his shoulder to confirm Rogers had gone in the bar and touched his earpiece. ‘Got him?'

‘And the acting award goes to...'

‘That's not an answer.'

‘If I didn't have him, Malfoy, I'd tell you to go back there and stick your tongue down his throat ‘til I had his signal.'

Scorpius frowned as he slipped down a side-alley, letting his profile disappear from the evening crowds to the shadows of back paths. ‘First, you're considerably bossier over comms than you are in person. Second, should we be using real names?'

‘You shouldn't in case someone overhears you. But it's literally impossible for anyone to intercept these communications. There's only one person in the world who has the know-how to do it, and that's me. Also, I refuse to give you a code name. This isn't Mission: Impossible.'

‘I have no idea what that is.'

He heard her breathe something that might have been, ‘ _Purebloods_ ,' before pressing on. ‘You need to get into the back alleyway. Any of the likely rooms they'll use for this private meeting will be easier to stay close to from the rear of the building. Then you just keep yourself nearby, keep your phone on, and I'll be able to put Rogers' microphone on and we'll be sorted.'

The back alley smelled of rubbish and piss, sweat and metal, and was mercifully dark and empty as he crunched down it, keeping close to the wall even if there was nobody to see him and no light to see him by. With Rose's guidance he could slink along under the high windows leading to the back rooms, sealed and looking too solid for him to make any entry, until her voice crept into his ear, confirming he was in the right spot.

‘Just wait there,' she told him. ‘Rogers and others are coming into this room, plans suggest it's a small place, ideal for a clandestine meeting.'

‘Really? I'm your cell tower booster?' he muttered back. ‘I could shimmy up that pipe and try using a spell to overhear through the window -'

‘You know those are unreliable; we have no idea how thick that window is.'

‘Unlike this hugely reliable, not-fully-developed or tested magitech you've been basically developing as you go along?' While he didn't understand how it all worked, Scorpius knew this was not the line of research Rose had followed. They'd wanted to be able to interface with Muggle technology, not take control of it for privacy intrusions. If the extent of what she could do had reached the ears of the press two years ago, after Stortford, there would have been a whole different backlash against the Renaissance Initiative.

‘I know what I'm doing,' came back Rose's terse reply, and he kept quiet because at the least there was only a window between him and the mobsters he was trying to eavesdrop on. And at the least he could hear movement, hear muffled voices he couldn't dream of making out, and still he bit his tongue for the long, silent minutes. Then Rose spoke again, even more tense. ‘So...'

‘We have a problem.' It wasn't a question.

‘Look, I haven't really been working on this magitech in the last couple of years and so Muggle software security has changed -'

Frustration flared in Scorpius' chest. ‘You've got me sitting outside the window like an idiot and you _can't patch in_?'

‘I _can_. You just have to give me some time. It's not unbreakable, it's just different -'

‘Screw this.' He tore away from the window, looked to the opposite wall and spotted a pipe he could shimmy up. ‘We're doing this my way.'

‘Malfoy, if you don't stay close I don't have a prayer of connecting -'

‘Doesn't seem like you have much of a prayer now.' He was already halfway up the drainpipe, onto a ledge two storeys up, and as he turned back to the window of the meeting room below, had to accept his angle and view still wasn't great.

‘And I've lost any connection,' Rose snapped in his ear. ‘That's great, if I just had more time -'

He reached into his ear and killed the earpiece. In the absence of her complaining, the night-life of London rushed back to him; whistling wind down the alleyway, carrying with it the hubbub of distant voices, all the joys and arguments and bitterness of an evening far away. Leaving him there, a detached observer, too far from the everyday life and still needing to reach out for it. He braced his wand down at the window of Rogers' meeting room and breathed, ‘ _Audirio_.'

Neither of them had been wrong. It was a thick window, thicker than the old-fashioned stained-glass back at the Two Brothers. A narrow gap, too, making it even harder, meaning he had to hold his wand impossibly level. And the snippets of words that slid through the night sky, snatched from their lips to his ears by magics nobody had bothered to perfect, were incomplete.

‘ _...promising a whole delivery...'_

 

_‘...best to get them out of the city; we've contacts in the west country needing labour...'_

 

_‘...docks aren't ideal but even the pigs won't be much of a problem round there...'_

 

_‘...not sure how much we can trust these Albanian dickheads but our other supplies are drying up these days...'_

Enough to paint him a blurry watercolour of the situation, of the Kane Syndicate's plans. Enough to make his blood boil. Not enough to act.

His phone had buzzed three times only to be ignored, going silent after as Rose apparently gave up. If he just stuck this out a little more, eventually he'd get a snippet of what they were there for, eventually he'd get what he needed -

‘... _for a good meeting; I'll see you all soon...'_

Then scraping chairs and a hubbub of multiple voices washing over each other, the fuss and drones from a meeting ended. Then he definitely couldn't make anything out, and with his heart in his throat, Scorpius realised he'd got all he was going to get.

From this method, at least. He hit the ground hard as he slid down the drainpipe, and had to fight the urge to run as he burst out the alleyway and back onto the street in front of the bar. People still milled on the pavement, moving between drinking establishments, so he could slip into the crowd and head towards the door. Going inside was madness, surely, and he only had so many options...

Rogers' driver was still in the car, and looked up from his phone with a glint of irritation when Scorpius knocked. A pause, then the window slid down. ‘The hell do you -'

‘ _Confundus_.' At once a glassy look filled the driver's eyes, and Scorpius allowed himself a thin smile. ‘You fancy a walk. Some fresh air. I'll take care of the keys and the car.'

It was much easier to handle Muggles like this than wizards. Wizards had a certain inherent resistance, so they could be staggered and bewildered but were far less suggestible. This fellow did indeed open the door, get to his feet with a bewildered blink, and palmed Scorpius the car keys before wandering off down the pavement. He'd probably be fine, Scorpius reasoned. He wouldn't hurt himself or others, he'd just meander in confusion and a little later come around, unsure of what had happened. At worst he'd likely think he'd drunk something off.

Ten minutes later, Keith Rogers emerged from the bar and made a bee-line for the car. A flicker of irritation crossed his meaty face as his driver didn't get out, didn't open the door for him, but he slid into the back seat anyway and grunted, ‘Fine, home, you lazy bastard.'

But he was looking at his phone, not paying that much attention, and so Scorpius could give a small noise of assent, his face shrouded by dark and his target's indifference, and drive the car into the streets of night-clad London.

It was time to improvise.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose hadn’t heard from Scorpius in an hour, so hated how quickly she answered her phone when he rang. ‘What the _hell_ is going on?’

His voice was low, tense. ‘You can locate me?’

‘We could have a conversation like normal people -’

‘Nothing about this is normal. Locate me, get to me.’

She couldn’t hear much in the background; no hum of traffic, no hubbub of voices. But she’d given him a phone she could track; that had been the entire point of appearing to help his idiotic endeavour, so it only took a few taps at her laptop to bring up the map. ‘Limehouse. Quiet area.’

‘Get here.’

‘I can’t just Apparate to somewhere I’ve never been -’

‘Then - get the bloody tube, I don’t care, what’s the nearest station?’

‘Got it.’ Rose checked the time on her screen. Mercifully more tube lines ran 24-hours these days. ‘You can’t just cut me off then expect me to come running -’ Which was when he hung up. Muttering oaths, she rose from her desk and grabbed a backpack, stashing the laptop and a few other odds and ends. It was impossible to say what he needed, so she grabbed a hoodie if she was going to have to travel through Muggle London incognito. It probably wouldn’t do to call the Knight Bus for their illicit vigilante work.

The living room light was on when she emerged from her bedroom, her cousin in her usual place with papers from work spread across the coffee table. Dominique looked up with a frown. ‘Going somewhere? It’s gone midnight.’

‘I’ve got… work.’ Dominique was a few years older than her and they’d never been close, different generations in a family so large one could afford to stick within one’s age bracket and still have plenty of company. But Rose had clung to her old flat for as long as she could with savings and the leftovers from her work for the Renaissance Initiative, and she’d eventually realised that on a shop-girl’s salary she was going to have to downsize. Scouring the _Prophet_ had inevitably brought her to Dom, who’d just lost a housemate in her flat on the northern outskirts of London.

Living with family mostly suited them both; they both had a vested interest to behave, lest the ire of some family matriarch or another get brought down on their head. But they could come and go as they pleased without much accountability to one another. Dom had tried at first for them to spend more time together socially, but she kept inhospitable work hours and Rose was not one of nature’s friendliest people. It was probably best, she thought, to not be friends with your housemates. It was usually just a way to fall out.

But lying didn’t help either, and Dom asked questions for a living. ‘What, there’s a serious prank-emergency?’

‘You know George. He’s _eccentric_ when he gets inspiration.’ Rose didn’t need Dom to believe her, she reasoned. She just needed her to not suspect she was shooting off to participate in late-night vigilantism against Muggle gangsters. There was a lot of suspicion she could brook. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘You should ask him for a raise,’ came Dom’s disbelieving farewell as Rose left.

Apparition to discreet places, then the tube down to the heart of London. It was harder and harder for young witches and wizards to interact with the Muggle world; harder for them to exchange money, harder for them to learn the basics of how to live and move in the Muggle world. All the while, the wizarding world became more and more staid, the same culture and music and fashion reigning as had for the last twenty years. Rose only cared about some of those things, but she’d spent too long at the border between realms to be comfortable getting stuck in the old world of magic. There was a whole other existence out there. A whole other life. She’d just not expected _this_ life.

Scorpius’ phone took her to what looked like a run of condemned housing estates near a park. They must have once been destined to be turned into cosy new residences, only for the work to fall through and for them to now present an active risk of crushing exploring youngsters to death. But it was late enough that with her hoodie down, hands in her pockets, and a few charms to help Muggles’ gazes slide over her, she could get to the specific door in the row of abandoned homes without incident, though dark windows floor after floor above her glared down with their unwelcoming gazes. The door itself hung off the hinges, only darkness stretching inside, but she could smell the desperation along with the dust, and from far inside, hear a mumble of voices.

She grabbed her phone and quickly texted _I_ _’m here_ to Scorpius.

‘This way!’ came his voice moments after, and she passed two doors to dusty and abandoned rooms with chipped walls and broken windows before coming to what had once been a lobby. The gaping maw of an empty lift shaft leered at her from the far end, sucking in all the light from the torch Scorpius had set on the bare table. Weak, thin yellow light still shone on the figure tied to a metal chair in the middle of the room. He was panting, head low, hands bound behind his back, but even in his reduced state she could recognise him. She’d found the mugshot for Keith Rogers after all.

‘What the _shit_ is going on?’

Scorpius stood near the torch, still in his robes, hood lowered. In this light his whole face looked sharper, more gaunt, and somehow his voice matched as he spoke. ‘Your plan didn’t work. I didn’t have time to fix it. So we’ve done it my way.’

Rose advanced, picking up her jaw as she went. ‘Have you been _beating_ him?’

‘Not yet. I don’t suppose you’re a good Legilimens?’

She swallowed, mouth dry. ‘Not really, no.’

‘Pity. I’m only good enough to tell if he’s lying or not. So far he’s been lying. A lot. How’s your obliviation?’

‘Actually rather good.’ But her voice came out more empty than she’d like, and she stalked towards Scorpius to grab his sleeve. ‘So, what, you interrogate him and then I wipe his memory?’

‘You were the one who pointed out we couldn’t show our hand too well, or they’ll move this exchange. I can’t Confound him, I need him sharp enough to answer specific questions -’

‘So it is you.’ Their heads snapped round to see Rogers look up, bleary-eyed despite the venom in his voice. ‘The son of a bitch who’s been screwing with our lads -’

‘They had it coming,’ said Scorpius coldly, moving to stand before the torch so his shadow stretched taller, more monstrous. ‘And your sick operations are going to finish.’

‘The only thing that’s finished,’ rasped Rogers, ‘is you. When we find out who you are, there’s gonna be payback. With interest. Your little friend here.’ His head jerked at Rose, who drew back despite herself. ‘Family. Loved ones.’

‘I’m not that concerned.’ Scorpius advanced, grabbing Rogers by the jaw. ‘Go ahead. Take a good look at my face.’

‘I already did -’

‘Then if you’re not so worried, big man, tell us about this exchange. The Albanians are involved, is that it? Somewhere at the docks? What is it, _more_ innocent people lured in to work illegally for you?’

‘These people make their choices,’ Rogers spat. ‘They come from shitholes and they get to work and live here. And who’s going to pay that much for the work they do?’

‘Don’t give me a lecture on economics,’ Scorpius sneered. ‘Yes, you’re just a businessman exploiting a hole in the market, except you keep them locked up and in debt to you and in fear of retaliation if something happens. And _that_ _’s_ just the ones who work in your halfway respectable businesses; let’s not even _talk_ about the forced prostitution -’

Rogers gave a dismissive shrug and looked to the shrouded ceiling. ‘Oh, look at that,’ he said with indifference. ‘I got under your skin first.’

Scorpius moved so fast Rose barely saw him, one moment leaned over Rogers, the next lashing out for booted foot to knock him and his chair crashing to the floor. Scorpius’ wand was in his hand, a blasting curse exploding on shattered tiles inches from Rogers’ nose, and despite the man’s superiority there was a yelp of fear and surprise. Then Scorpius was in his face again, grabbing Rogers by the front of his shirt. ‘That didn’t have to miss,’ he snarled. ‘I’ve got a long way to go before there’s anything I can’t undo.’

‘What the _hell_ are you?’ Gone was Rogers’ cool, voice shaking. ‘They said you moved like some special forces bullshit -’

‘I’m nothing you’ve ever seen before. I could saw off pieces of you until you talked, and maybe, if you were _really_ lucky, I’d put you back together again afterwards -’

‘ _Malfoy_.’ Rose’s voice was flat, again, but enough to break through to him, and he stood to back off. His shoulders were tense, his gait clipped, everything about him suggesting a restrained rage that was altogether new and unwelcome. It was just as well, she mused, that she could wipe Rogers’ memory. ‘You’re not going to rip chunks off him, so how about you pick him up and let me try.’

‘I don’t -’

‘Or I walk and you can deal with the fact that I just said your name and _you_ _’re_ not as good at wiping memories.’

Scorpius stared at her for long, thudding moments, before reaching out to haul Rogers and his chair back upright. ‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘I’m waiting.’

Rose waited until he backed off next to the torch. Rogers sat with heaving chest, right knee shuddering, and she drew her wand. ‘You must be rationalising about now,’ she said, forcing her voice calm. ‘How he got you, what he just did - could be pyrotechnics. Could be a lot of things. And maybe we’re making shit up about wiping your memory, maybe that’s some part of the gambit.’ She lifted her wand, sparks shooting out the end, and Rogers flinched. ‘That could be anything,’ she continued. ‘The sort of thing you’d see on Bonfire Night. Give me a colour?’

Rogers worked his jaw wordlessly before stammering, ‘Blue.’

Blue sparks shot out the end of her wand. She forced a smile. ‘Give me a kind of bird.’

‘What?’

‘Birds. Pigeon. Cuckoo?’

‘Uh, uh, sparrow.’

Three sparrows burst out from her wand, filling the tense darkness with their twittering. At a swishing command, they circled her head before flapping to Rogers, fluttering about him, in his face. One settled on his shoulder. ‘Feels real, doesn’t it?’ Rose said, voice still calm as he writhed. ‘Do you want to see what else I can do? Or do you want to tell us about this exchange?’

‘I don’t -’

She brought her hands together, plunging the room into darkness, then a fresh twist of the wand brought forth another illusion, this one auditory, whispers rattling back and forth. When she spoke, it sounded like her voice moved, one moment across the room, the next in Rogers’ ear. ‘These are parlour tricks. But they’re impossible, aren’t they?’

‘What the _hell are you_?’

She drew back the shadows with her wand, Rogers pale and panting under the returning torchlight. His scream was muffled, terrified when his chair lurched in the air, one foot, two feet, three feet, and began to spin. ‘Do you want to see how high up the lift shaft you can go before my concentration lapses?’ Rose continued in that same level voice. ‘Or do you want to tell me about the exchange?’

‘What - no - what exchange -’ He was near the ceiling now, and yelped again when she dropped him three feet. ‘Okay, okay! It’s more deals with the Albanians!’

Rose exchanged a glance with Scorpius. His expression was inscrutable, but at her nod, she lowered Rogers gently to the ground, and Scorpius stepped forward. ‘Tell me everything. Or we’ll do more impossible things than her light show.’

Rogers’ voice came in a desperate pant. ‘We don’t do _much_ with moving people, only started in the last year. It was the new thing, the big man’s son - Ryan - wanted it done… big ideas, moving the family forward, looking to stand out from the rest, it’s a whole… Kane family drama _bullshit_. It’s with this one gang in Albania. I deal with a guy called Riad Ahmeti. I don’t know or ask how he gets people, he just brings them in and we put them to work. It’s been in the drug labs or the brothels, but with your recent shit and the Met breathing down our necks maybe we’ll have to get people to the jobs outside the city.’

‘And this is the next delivery of victims this Ahmeti guy’s rounded up.’ Scorpius nodded. ‘Give me the details.’

‘Friday night. Ropemakers Dock. Eleven PM. Freight boat up the Thames, we meet him, pick them up. Should be twenty people this time.’

Scorpius pressed him for the details; exact location, numbers, particulars of the exchange, and Rose watched him as they spoke. His face still had that cold quality to it, the gauntness of his cheeks in the pale light draining all hint of past smiles and warmth, his expression and stance and conduct harking back to a different part of his family legacy. And when he was satisfied, he stepped forward. ‘So this Ryan Kane won’t be there. What’s he responsible for? What about these drug labs you -’

‘No.’ Rose found herself talking before she realised, and stepped forward. ‘You’ve got what you want; I’m wiping his memory now.’

He stared at her. ‘But we could learn -’

‘I’m wiping his memory now, or I’m leaving.’

‘This is an opportunity -’ But she turned away, and he stepped back. _‘Fine_.’

It didn’t take long. So far as Keith Rogers would be concerned, he dismissed his driver, got way more drunk than he intended to, had a blurry night at an establishment he couldn’t fully remember, struck out embarrassingly with a woman much younger than his wife, and would wake up in the back of his car the next day no worse for wear. It was, Rose hoped, believable and embarrassing enough that he wouldn’t either reflect too much or tell anyone about it.

They came back inside the building once Rogers was locked unconscious in his car outside. ‘What the _hell_ , Weasley?’ Scorpius shouted the moment they were behind closed doors, broken as they were

She rounded on him, jabbing him in the chest with an accusing finger. ‘No, _you_ don’t get to be the one to ask that. You took on _my_ help, agreed to do things _my_ way, and then the moment it went a bit tough you abandoned me and the plan and expected me to tidy up after you?’

‘Your plan wasn’t _working_!’

‘You needed to give me time; I could have got into his phone and we could have overheard the meeting instead of you having to abduct him. And you going off on your own didn’t do any good!’ She stuck her hands on her hips. ‘That’s even before I get into you borderline _torturing_ the guy -’

‘I wasn’t going to carve him up! But what was I supposed to do, ask him _nicely_ to give his secrets?’ Scorpius gave an irate sigh. ‘No, I didn’t think of blowing his mind with a display of harmless magic. I forget people find magic _scary_.’

‘They find the unknown scary, that’s why they’re scared _shitless_ of you.’ She bit her lip. ‘But I thought that was all cloak and dagger. Not because you’ve _actually_ shot off on this one-man crusade of leg-breaking.’

‘Is that why you cut that short?’

‘I cut that short because we got into this so you could save your friend’s sister. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?’ She watched him, chest tight. ‘You want to hurt them.’

‘I want -’

‘You want to wreck as much of what they’re doing as possible. You want to ruin their operations just to make them feel pain. You don’t want to save one person; you want to go to _war_. And to hell with anything else; to hell with me and my plan, to hell with sense and morality if it meant you were going to do this _your_ way, break Rogers _your_ way.’ She took a step back and shook her head. ‘I got you out of this mess tonight. But the rest of this? This isn’t what I signed up for.’

His face went cold. ‘I didn’t ask you to join me in this.’

‘No, but you need me. You need me to be an equal partner you work with and listen to, or you’re going to get people killed. You’re going to get yourself killed. Worse, you’ll blow the Statute open and all those horror stories Edevane told us to get elected won’t just be some right-wing nut-job’s xenophobic nightmare. It’ll be our _lives_.’ Rose lifted her hands. ‘And I won’t be party to that.’ She hadn’t known, for sure, she was going to say all of that until she’d said it. But the words came and her breath or nerve didn’t steal them away, nor did her feet betray her when she turned to go.

And when he didn’t protest, didn’t call her back, didn’t stop her, she knew it was the right choice.

 

* * *

 

 

Evening Quidditch matches were a dangerous fare. The modern game rarely lasted more than a couple of hours, developments in broom and ball magics making everything faster and more frenetic than the days-long matches of yore. But it wasn’t unheard of for a seven o’ clock kick-off to go on long into the night with a bit of bad luck, and the modern Quidditch league couldn’t fit only weekend games into their schedule. Some fans just made the most of it, bringing blankets into the stands and making ready to hunker down for a long night if necessary.

That was not necessary in a box with seats as good as theirs, even if Albus grumbled as he settled into the comfy chair with his pint. ‘You don’t get the atmosphere up here.’

‘I know, I almost never get vomited on by a drunken fan in this spot.’ Scorpius gave him a sidelong look. ‘If you try to change that, I will have you _banned_. And don’t act like you’ve not enjoyed premium seats your entire life with your mum’s job.’

‘Sure, but nobody ever brought the drinks _to_ us then.’

‘Then you obviously weren’t using luxury properly.’ He sipped his pint. ‘Damn, it’s been a while.’

‘You weren’t making Quidditch matches abroad on your world tour of partying?’

Scorpius had worked very hard to make sure all the press learnt of his behaviour was the odd bender. It didn’t need to happen too often, but if it was all they reported, it was all anyone saw. But obfuscation was harder in direct conversation with people who knew him well. ‘They play Quodpot in other places, Al. A guy’s got to have standards.’

‘Yeah,’ muttered Al as the players shot out from the passageways beneath the stands to soar into the skies for the pre-match warm-up. ‘Standards.’

It was not a great game. No more than six goals apiece before the Tornadoes’ Seeker got the Snitch, all fine play and skilled performance overshadowed by one mad dash for that glint of gold. But they still cheered, still roared to their feet every time the Quaffle soared through the right hoop, still clutched each other’s shoulders at their Seeker’s mad-cap dash, victory literally in his grasp. And at least being in the box seats meant there was a more private bar for them to get in one last pint before they left, instead of joining the thronging masses shouldering their ways out of the stadium.

‘Low turnout,’ Scorpius still observed once they propped up the bar with fresh drinks.

‘Normal these days,’ Albus said ruefully.

‘Nobody likes a Quidditch match any more?’

‘I don’t know what it is.’ Al sipped his beer. ‘The Ministry’s brought in all sorts of new legislation around keeping matches secret. It makes it a lot more expensive for the teams, ticket prices go up. More and more, wizards don’t want to go out and gather. And you know Quidditch was losing popularity a few years ago anyway.’

‘You know I love the game,’ said Scorpius, who’d spent six years on a Slytherin House team that had lifted the Cup more times than not. ‘But it _is_ dated. Losing its appeal, not keeping up with modern interests and sensibilities.’

‘Modern,’ Al scoffed into his glass. ‘That’s not a word I’d throw around much any more.’

Scorpius ran his thumb over condensation at the rim of his pint. It meant he didn’t have to look directly at Albus. ‘I hear that’s kicking your arse at work.’

Albus sighed. ‘Rose has got a big mouth, which is amazing for someone who’s as bad with people as her.’

‘I didn’t need a conversation with her to see which way the wind’s been buffeting you.’ Scorpius spoke quickly, because he didn’t want to think about Rose Weasley right then. ‘I remember why you joined the Obliviators -’

‘To piss off Dad?’ Albus said with a self-effacing grimace.

‘Well, sure. But once you got past _that_. Helping people. Keeping them safe. Even if they were Muggles. Obliviators are the first on the scene to bring down wizards who think having magic makes people _without_ magic their play-things.’

‘It’s not like we don’t do that any more,’ Albus protested. ‘At the end of the day, people who break the Statute get caught and punished, and we patch together Muggle lives as best we can as if nothing happened.’

‘Sure,’ said Scorpius. ‘That’s why you’re wandering around like Atlas with the weight of the world on your shoulders, showing your happy face all the time.’

‘Maybe this is my happy face,’ Albus grumbled, glaring at his glass.

‘Then, Merlin, no wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend -’ Al gave him a playful shove, and Scorpius chuckled as he rocked on his bar-stool. ‘I get it, okay? I get how you want one thing only for the world to serve you another.’

‘Is that why you reopened that Pandora’s Box on magitech?’ Now Albus straightened and fixed him with a piercing look. ‘Yeah, Rose told _me_ about that.’

Scorpius’ gut coiled cold. ‘When?’

‘Few days ago,’ said Albus, and Scorpius relaxed a little as he realised this was probably what had set Rose to help him in the first place. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if Rose and Albus spoke now. ‘You think this is what’s going to turn your company around? Because it sounds to me like a great time to saw open old wounds. In you, your family, the _country_ -’

‘I’m not committed to anything.’ By now, lies didn’t even taste bitter any more. Distantly, Scorpius wondered if that was a bad sign. ‘I’m sticking my toe in the waters. Investigating new and exciting vistas of doing something different to the same old corporate bullshit as everyone else for the past twenty years. Call me an innovator for wanting to bring the wizarding world out of the _nineteenth_ century -’

‘If I did my job properly,’ said Albus, jaw tightening, ‘I should report this.’

Scorpius blinked. ‘I’m not doing anything illegal.’ _At least, not about this_.

‘You think that matters to the office of Obliviators these days? You’re a recorded threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and you don’t need to commit a crime or to actually break it to have your actions listed in our books.’ Albus scowled. ‘The new, improved remit of my job - to seek out threats _before_ they happen and invade their privacy -’

‘Okay, okay.’ Scorpius lifted his hands, and took a deep breath. ‘Confession time. Because you look like your head’s about to spin all the way round, and you _know_ I hate going looking for the right exorcist when you do that. Settle down.’ He watched his best friend, watched his apprehension and hurt, and knew he was doing the right thing. ‘I didn’t want the magitech for an investor. I’m _not_ going back to that.’

Albus squinted. ‘Then why’d you go to Rose -’

‘Because I _did_ need something from her. Her phones can tap into Muggle ones, break their security, do all kinds of stuff - don’t look like _that_.’ Scorpius leaned in and dropped his voice. ‘I just needed it to get rid of some pictures. From a Muggle-born reporter in eastern Europe. Not Statute-breaking ones. _Embarrassing_ ones.’ He ran a hand through his hair and tried to look mortified. ‘So you know this big, important meeting I _apparently_ had in Tirana? Where I negotiated huge new shipping contracts from the region for the company? If I’m being _strictly_ honest… I wasn’t there.’

‘What?’

‘I _may_ have been at a party with a _really_ pretty girl and this damned journalist clocked me and used their phone because they’re not completely backwards in wizarding Albania, and I know they were looking to write up this tell-all article about how I’ve _not_ actually been the one to change my family’s fortunes, I’ve just been using staffers to do it while going on this world-wide party binge…’ Scorpius focused on his drink as if too embarrassed to even look at his best friend. ‘Which wouldn’t be a million miles away from the truth.’

He could almost hear Albus’ expression sinking. ‘I thought you were fixing the company. Working hard, playing hard…’

‘One of those things is true. Look, my name opens doors and I know how to make people feel good, feel welcome, but seriously, I just had good advisers and staffers. So I borrowed this phone off Rose to delete this evidence, and so people don’t find out this whole turnabout of my company hasn’t come from me. So my _folks_ don’t find out this whole turnabout didn’t come from me.’ Scorpius raised his head to find Albus staring at him with a dejected, betrayed edge. ‘I didn’t cross the world to fix it. I just wanted to get away. And it was easier to do that if people thought I was working.’

‘I mean,’ said Albus at length, ‘I did see those articles. Saying you were just partying; I figured it was the press being keen to keep tearing you down…’

Scorpius had worked exceptionally hard to shape the narrative of the past two years. To build up his family’s prestige, his company’s wealth. And then he’d had to cover his tracks of his other behaviour, his extra-curriculars, and filling it with parties and irreverence had been the best way forwards. If he turned one way, he could paint himself this business genius, saviour of Malfoy Enterprise’s wealth. With just a cheeky grin and a casual shirt, he was the layabout taking credit for other people’s work while he drank his way across the globe. Sometimes he didn’t get to choose which he was seen as, but that was all fine. Both were masks hiding the real thing.

And if Albus was such a dedicated Obliviator, it was in everyone’s best interests if he saw the mask that showed Scorpius off as nothing more than a childish party-boy.

Scorpius took a rueful gulp of beer. ‘It’s been,’ he said at length, ‘a really shitty two years.’

When Albus spoke at last, his voice rasped. ‘Used to be in the Obliviators that we just tidied up. Made sure nobody asked too many questions by resetting everything as close to normal as possible. But not any more. Now, it’s not just enough to make problems go away. We have to stop them from ever coming up again.’ He swigged his drink. ‘Preemptive Obliviations of Muggles just asking the wrong questions. Arrests of wizards if they happen to have ties to the Muggle world too tight. I’ve wiped the memories of _twelve_ family members of Muggle-born wizards in the last six months. Because they were _suspected_ of talking too much.’ He slammed down his pint. ‘Had to wipe a Muggle’s memory because his wife’s a witch and neither kept their mouths shut quite enough. They’re divorced now; turns out if you wipe enough bits of someone’s relationship, they don’t even remember why they got together in the first place. And that’s not even getting into the new policies when things happen and Muggles learn the truth. We don’t just erase their memories. We have to ruin their lives, their credibility. So they won’t only _never_ again look into the wizarding world. So nobody would ever believe them if they stumbled onto the truth. I don’t mean conspiracy theorists, I mean normal people who just fall foul of a _wizard_ _’s_ mistake…’ Words tumbled from him, embittered and pained and guilty, and at last Scorpius felt the knife-twist in his gut from how badly he’d lied to his best friend, and how it had made him open up.

He clasped Albus’ shoulder tight. ‘One thing I learned these past two years,’ Scorpius said quietly, ‘is we have to make our own light in dark places.’ This much was true, so of course he had to ruin it with further obfuscation. ‘So let’s have another drink and see if we can’t find somewhere more fun after this, and send you into work tomorrow with the mother of all hangovers…’


End file.
